


Special Prosecutions - Clerks

by afrakaday



Series: Special Prosecutions [1]
Category: Battlestar Galactica, Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:49:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afrakaday/pseuds/afrakaday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bill and Laura meet as coworkers en route to becoming the legal power couple of New Jersey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1 - September 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill Adama meets his new co-clerk.

  


Bill Adama looked up at the imposing federal building, its impressive white marble facade evoking a sense of wonder at finally having arrived as a lawyer. Fresh from Seton Hall Law School, _he_ would be working _here_. He straightened his red tie and brushed imaginary lint from his pristine charcoal suit in anticipation.

He felt incredibly fortunate to have landed the coveted clerkship position with Judge J. Sherman Cottle. He had been concerned when he entered law school that his father’s reputation as one of the Mob’s favorite criminal defense attorneys would make it difficult to procure legitimate employment of his own, but both four years of military service followed by a hard-earned stint as Editor in Chief of the Law Review had eased that worry somewhat.

His close-cropped hair and muscular physique were the most obvious evidence of his previous career. While he’d enjoyed being in ROTC as an undergraduate at Rutgers, he had always been ambivalent about pursuing a long-term career in the Navy. He fulfilled his four-year commitment and briefly considered the JAG Corps before deciding to go to law school with an open mind as to where he might want to end up after graduation. A summer internship with a federal judge in Manhattan, spent observing the famed “Pizza Connection” trial of alleged Mob members accused of heroin distribution and money laundering, had convinced him that his passions lay in the criminal law, not the Uniform Code of Military Justice. And while his proclivity toward prosecution put him undeniably at the opposite counsel table from his father, Joseph Adama was nevertheless pleased that his son had chosen to pursue a career in the law.

He wondered what his co-clerk would be like. His predecessor had informed him several months ago that the other clerk Judge Cottle had hired would be coming from private practice in civil litigation and had graduated from Penn Law two years earlier, but that constituted the extent of Bill's knowledge.

As he passed through security and into the granite lobby, he took in the portraits lining the halls of previous judges of the District Court, looking for a likeness of his boss-to-be, whom he'd only met once. He didn't see one, but he did notice a portrait of William Brennan and was pleased to recall that the Supreme Court justice also hailed from his home state.

Bill rode the elevator to the fourth floor, nodding nervously at a group of people in dark suits as he alighted. He let out a deep breath before clearing his throat and knocking on the door marked "Judge J.S. Cottle's Chambers." It opened promptly, and Bill found himself looking into a pair of mesmerizing green eyes framed by unruly red curls.

"You must be Mr. Adama," the woman said brightly. "Laura Roslin." She held out her hand and shook his confidently.

"Call me Bill, please," he said, feeling off-balance at the apparent informational deficit. "You are...the other law clerk?"

"That's right," she confirmed. “It’s very nice to finally meet you.” She nodded her head toward the secretary's office. "Why don’t we let Ms. Ishay know you're here." She casually grabbed his hand and pulled him deeper into chambers. He followed like a lost puppy, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest.

So his co-clerk was a gorgeous, accomplished redhead. He liked her hair very much and found it striking. It had a light, natural curl that she allowed to stand on its own, a welcome change from the voluminous styles, supported by vast quantities of crunchy Aqua Net, favored by his law school classmates. His eyes drifted over her frame; her conservative skirt suit failed to conceal shapely legs and a firm ass. He groaned inwardly and warred with himself between hoping that she was single and that she was off the market so as not to distract him. Either way, he sensed it was going to be a long year.

The expectant throat-clearing of the secretary, a woman a few years older than him with curly brown hair set off by teased barrel-curled bangs, roused him from his introspective reverie. "Hello, Bill," she said kindly, rising from behind her desk and walking out to join him and Laura. "Nice to see you again. Welcome."

"Thank you, Ms. Ishay. I’m happy to be here," he replied sincerely. He fumbled awkwardly with his briefcase, shifting it from his right hand to his left so he could offer his hand. He could feel Laura Roslin's hot gaze appraising him.

"Oh, please call me Layne." Her lilting British accent took on an amused tone. "You too, Laura. Only the judge calls me Ishay.” She walked down a short corridor, gesturing for them to follow her. “Judge Cottle is out for the morning, but he'll be back in a few hours to show you around chambers and introduce you to the Clerk’s Office staff," she said over her shoulder. At the end of the corridor, she ushered them through a doorway. "This is your office."

Bill looked around the expansive room. Bookcases filled with heavy leather-bound case reporters and statutes filled every inch of wall space, save a window that looked out over the gritty, gray city of Newark. He walked over to it and found that if he squinted, he could make out the distinctive New York City skyline beyond the Passaic River, hazily visible in the background.

He turned his back to the window to evaluate his new workspace. Two L-shaped mahogany desks in opposing configurations faced each other in the middle of the room. _Great_ , Bill thought in response to the realization that Laura Roslin would be in his field of vision all day, every day, as he tried to work.

Each desk was equipped with a typewriter. “Layne,” inquired Laura politely, “will we be receiving computer terminals?”

Bill blanched at the mention of computers. He’d never learned how to use them, despite the law school administration’s attempts to encourage both students and professors to embrace the new technology. He was far more comfortable doing his research in longhand, then typing as needed on a typewriter or even a word processor.

“I’m just so used to using Westlaw and WordPerfect after being at the firm,” Laura continued. “They make life much easier.”

Bill grunted in disagreement. “I don’t know about that,” he countered. “I managed to put out a six-issue volume of the Law Review last year without using a single computer.”

Laura gave an annoyed hum, shaking her head in disapproval. She was cute even in her fit of pique, Bill thought. Still, his jaw clenched involuntarily in response to her contrariness.

Layne glanced worriedly between the two new employees. “I’m sure the Clerk’s Office will let you know about the available electronic equipment when you go down there later today,” she soothed. “You have most of the case books and reporters you’ll need right here in chambers, and anything else you’ll find in the library on the third floor.”

Bill nodded. Laura looked placated, for now, but Bill suspected that she was probably very good at getting what she wanted.  



	2. October 1987

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill spills his guts under the influence of Sinatra and sambuca.

  


Bill closed his eyes wearily, unable to read another word of the Federal Reporter advance sheets littering his desk. He needed a drink.

Laura had left an hour earlier, giving him a sympathetic look on her way out as she mumbled about needing to catch her train. He’d wished her a good night, then tried to work in the eerily silent office, finding it harder to concentrate without her there across from him.

Giving up for the night--a glance at the wall clock told him it was nearly eleven o’clock, so he felt justified--he grabbed his briefcase and headed out of the courthouse. He hesitated slightly once outside, but his feet made the decision for him as they carried him toward the Ambrosia Cafe instead of his car.

The Italian joint was their chambers’ favorite place for quick food and friendly service. He and Laura had been warned off by Cottle and Ishay from wandering around Newark, which was why they tended to frequent the one restaurant, “Ambrosia’s” in the neighborhood vernacular, located less than a block from the courthouse. The owners, a middle-aged couple, were familiar with the propensity of Judge Cottle’s clerks to work long hours and had embraced both Bill and Laura as they had their predecessors.

Arriving at the nearly deserted restaurant, Bill sat at the counter that doubled as a bar in the evenings. There was no one else sitting there, but he could hear tell-tale clattering back in the kitchen, so he set down his things and parked his ass on the stool.

Sure enough, Saul Tigh came out a few moments later, a doo-rag covering his bald pate and his white tank top displaying the ink adorning his biceps.

Bill took particular notice of one tattoo; it read _SSN-579_ and under that,  _Audaces Fortuna Juvat_.

“Fortune Favors the Bold, huh?”

Saul looked at the young lawyer and then down at his old faded tattoo. “So they say.”

“How long were you on the Swordfish?”

Quirking an eyebrow in surprise, he crossed to the young man, taking out a a cigarette and lighting it. “I did two WESTPAC tours, but mostly we patrolled off Da Nang. What do you know about the _‘Fish?_ She ain’t exactly a boat that gets a lot of press, but then what submarine does?”

“I was ROTC at Rutgers. Did four years on the Admiral’s Staff of the _Carl Vinson_. When we did our WESTPAC, the _Swordfish_ joined us for some maneuvers in the South China Sea.”

Saul gave a whistle of approval. “I don’t pretend to miss much about living in that greasy tube under the water, but the chance to check out a boat like the _Vinson?_ He shook his head in disbelief. “We had eighty-seven men on that tin can. How many they got on one of those new carriers, anyway?”

“Thirty-two hundred ship’s company, about twenty-four hundred in the air wing. So with command staff and training complement, about six thousand.”

“Waving the flashy new aircraft carrier under your nose couldn’t turn you career?”

“Maybe if I had taken a different tack. Gotten into aviation.”

“Yeah. I know what you mean. Six years underwater was enough for me.”

“So what ya drinking?”

“Bushmills, neat.”

Saul poured two and offered a salute. “To our men, to ourselves, to our ships at sea, to our wives and sweethearts, and always to absent friends.”

Bill raised his glass. “To them all.”

While Saul busied himself pouring another drink, Bill looked around and was surprised that Ellen, Saul’s wife and co-owner of the restaurant, was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Ellen tonight?”

“Ah, I let ‘er go home early, told ‘er I’d close up by myself tonight,” explained Saul. “She wasn’t feelin’ so hot.”

 _Yeah, that tends to happen when you drink wine all afternoon_ , thought Bill before mentally shrugging; Ellen was a hoot, even if she did flirt shamelessly with him and all other men with a pulse to walk through the door.

Saul set the glass in front of him and Bill drained half of it in one shot. Immediately he felt the information that had been crammed into and weighing on his brain that evening begin to dissipate. Yes, that felt good...some more would feel even better. He finished the rest of the drink and signaled Saul for another.

The older man raised an eyebrow at Bill but quickly complied, bringing a double this time. Saul waved goodnight to the last remaining customers besides Bill and went to go clear their table and blow out the candles in the dining room, leaving Bill alone with whiskey and his thoughts.

 _I wonder what Laura’s doing tonight_ was the main question swirling along with the whiskey in his brain. A more salacious thought followed: _I wonder what she’s wearing right now._ He liked to think that she wore flimsy, feminine nighties to bed, in contrast to the concealingly-cut dark suits and collared button-down shirts she wore during the day.

The idea that she might not be alone in that mythical flimsy nightie sent him diving back into his empathetic whiskey.

Saul disappeared into the back with a tray full of empty glasses, and shortly thereafter, the radio switched from Louis Prima to Bon Jovi.

“Thought you might like this better,” he called to Bill from the troughlike sink where he was rinsing glassware.

Bill thrummed his fingers against his glass in time to the beat, feeling somewhat uplifted from his depressing turn of thought. By the time “Wanted Dead or Alive” came to a close, Saul had returned to the counter, sitting next to him and placing a bottle of sambuca in front of them.

“Woman troubles?” Saul asked bluntly.

Bill choked a little on the sip of whiskey he’d been swishing around in his mouth. “Not quite. I think you’ve got to have a woman to have woman troubles.”

“No woman, huh? What about the one you’re always coming in here with? What’s her name again?”

“Laura,” Bill answered, trying to keep his tone disinterested and detached.

“Laura, huh? You ever make it with her?”

 _I wish_. “No. We work together.”

“So?” Saul poured himself a finger of sambuca and offered the bottle to Bill, who declined by raising the glass still containing whiskey and taking a sip.

“Lemme get you another glass. You’ve gotta try this stuff. Ol’ Blue Eyes’ favorite.”

Seeing the eager anticipation in Saul’s eyes, Bill acquiesced. “All right. Just a little bit.”

Bill set aside the remaining whiskey in order to accept the innocuous-looking clear beverage. He found the burning sensation and subsequent blossom of anise essence across his sinuses surprisingly pleasant.

Saul picked up the thread of their earlier conversation. "So how come you never made it with her?" he asked casually, then threw back a shot. "I seen how you look at her."

“How’s that?”

“Like you’d lick those shiny black pumps of hers if she asked you to.”

The intensely erotic image that statement evoked in his mind made him shift uncomfortably in his seat. "I've only known her for a month," he said in defense his virility. "And we’re co-workers, it would be a bad idea to complicate things."

“Yeah, yeah, don’t shit where you eat, and all that.” Saul nodded seriously, then gave Bill’s shoulder a nudge with his own. “But you want to, huh?”

Unable to deny the torrent of lascivious thoughts that Saul’s earlier suggestion had unleashed in his head, Bill thought, _What the hell._ “Damn straight I do.”

Saul recognized the slight wistfulness in Bill’s statement. “But you’re not gonna?”

“Not while we’re working together, no.” Bill sighed dejectedly. “Maybe not even after. I have no idea if she feels the same way.”

“Hey, you’re a good-looking guy, doin’ well for yourself, obviously got a lot in common with her. Don’t sell yourself short.” Saul encouraged. “Take it easy, see what develops naturally. Just like me ‘n Ellen.” He got a faraway look in his eyes. “Although what developed natural for us was hoppin’ in the sack after we’d known each other for all of an hour.” He threw his hands up in mock defeat. “Love. When you know, you know.” He peered at Bill over the top of his glass. “You know?”

Warning bells echoed vaguely in his mind to _shut up, Bill_ , but the alcohol had already loosened his tongue, and he blurted out what he was thinking anyway. “I don’t know about love. I just know she’s beautiful, and brilliant, and I like spending time with her.”

“Oooh, boy. You’ve got it bad,” Saul chortled, slapping him on the back.

Bill’s half-smile and shrug were all the confirmation he was willing to put forth. “Look, keep this under wraps, would ya? I don’t want things to get awkward, seeing as we have to spend all day, every day together.”

“Loose lips sink ships. You’ve got my word.” The slight man stuck out his hand and the two shook on their little agreement.

“What do I owe ya?”

“Give me five for the Bushmills. The sambuca’s on Frank.”

Bill fished a ten out of his wallet and threw it on the bar. “For Frank,” he said. “And thanks for listening, Saul.”

“Hey, any time,” Saul said amiably. Bill slid off his stood and stood up. “You heading out?”

Bill nodded. “Yeah, gonna see if I can catch a cab out on Mulberry. No way I should be driving right now.”

“Atta boy, good man now. See ya soon, Bill.”

Bill gave a wave as he retreated into the inky black night.  



	3. January 1988

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill and Laura debate the definition of a date.

  


“We’re in recess!” barked Judge Cottle at the crowded courtroom, banging his gavel and glaring pointedly at one of the several shackled defendants, a slight, balding man currently smirking at the defense table. Greasy-haired men in double-breasted suits smirked and patted each other on the back. The judge stormed off the bench and led the way back into the sanctum of his chambers, his clerks following apprehensively. He was clearly in a mood.

“I’ve got half a mind to hold these defendants in contempt, Ishay,” he fumed, unzipping his robe and tossing it on a chair. Layne looked to Bill and Laura with raised eyebrows as the judge stalked into his office, gesturing for them to follow him. They took their customary seats across from his desk, Bill on the right, Laura on the left, as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one.

“I hope you two are learning something about client control,” the judge blustered. “Mr. Doral is doing a terrible job keeping John Cavello in line out there.” He seemed to calm slightly with each puff. “On trial for seventy-eight counts of RICO violations, and he thinks this is nothing more than an opportunity to conduct business as usual from my freaking courtroom.”

“The Marshals have mentioned that they might put up more of a barrier between the gallery and the counsel tables, Judge,” Bill offered.

“What’s the point, it’s gonna be a goddamn zoo out there every day no matter what they do. Eleven defendants and they’ve all got their entourages there, plus wives, mistresses, girlfriends, kids...” he shook his head.

“This trial has been going on since before you two started working here, but by God, it’s going to end before you leave. I’m gonna have to keep the defense on a tighter leash. The government got wide latitude, but as you saw, ended up actually proving diddly squat. ‘Reasonable doubt’ isn’t going to be that far a reach in this case, I think.” He gestured to them with his cigarette before tapping it over the overflowing ashtray on the corner of his desk. “Now the defense just wants to re-hash all those hearsay assertions that I told the jury to ignore anyway. Be that as it may. I think that if we all commit to staying on top of things, we should be able to put this case to the jury by August.”

Laura nodded intently. “Of course, Judge.” Bill stayed quiet but nodded his encouragement.

“You two have done excellent work so far, not only on this case, but in keeping the civil docket moving as well while I am wrapped up with trying these damned gangsters. This is already the longest-running criminal trial in the history of the court, and I don’t see us getting a break before it ends.”

“We figured as much, Judge,” affirmed Laura, with a small nod of agreement coming from Bill.

“Good. Because I’m talking long days and long nights, and you might as well kiss your weekends goodbye as well. This trial is a freaking circus and we need to be on the ball if we are gonna see it put to bed any time soon. I’m sorry to do it to you, and I hope you’re up for it.”

Bill and Laura exchanged glances. “Really, it’s not a problem, Judge,” Bill stated. “Whatever we can do to help,” added Laura.

“Thank you both,” said the judge tiredly. “It’s six-thirty and we’ve got a long week ahead of us. Why don’t you both head home for the evening? That’s what I’m going to do. I’ve got some medical journals I want to read. Gotta keep on top of that stuff, with all these malpractice suits we’ve got in the pipeline.”

“Thanks, Judge, but I was going to try to finish a draft of a summary judgment opinion in that insurance coverage case tonight,” replied Bill.

“I’ve also got some work to finish up before I leave,” added Laura. “But you have a good night, Judge.”

Judge Cottle slipped into his coat and lit another cigarette. “I knew I picked the right kids for this job. Suit yourselves. G’night.”

“Good night, Judge,” they answered in unison, standing to leave. Bill gestured for Laura to exit the judge’s office first. He played it off as chivalry, but really he just enjoyed watching the sway of her hips as she led the way back to their shared office. He noticed that Layne had left for the day while they were talking to the judge.

Laura eased into her large leather chair with a sigh. “It’s so difficult to get our work done when we’re sitting in trial all day,” she lamented, pushing her hair back out of her face. Her hand trailed down the side of her neck and prodded stiff muscles.

“I know, must be tough since there’s no computer for you to use out in the courtroom,” he teased her, allowing himself to lean against the side of her desk.

She snorted. “Yes. Here I thought I would end up winning you over to computers, and instead I’ve reverted to using casebooks like you.” She smiled at him in commiseration.

Bill surveyed their workspace; it was fairly neat, but the massive piles of stacked paper, tabbed exhibits, redweld folders, and black binders covering the perimeter of the room reminded him of the extent of their shared burden. “I don’t think I can make myself get back to work without something to eat first,” he said honestly. They’d been in trial all day, and working on their other matters while the jurors broke for lunch. They both generally tried to make an effort to bring their lunches to save time, but frequently failed. “Do you want to grab some takeout and bring it back here?”

She nodded slowly, looking dolefully at a two-foot-high pile of documents currently awaiting her scrutiny. “Sure, that sounds good.” She grabbed her purse as Bill went to the coat closet and removed both their jackets. He held hers out for her and helped her slip it on before donning his own wool overcoat.

They were both quiet as they walked down the street to Ambrosia’s. A bell chimed over the door as they walked in past tables set with worn white- and red-checked cloths and candles held in Chianti bottles to sit at the counter.

“Hi there, kids,” cackled the waitress and co-owner, Ellen Tigh. Bill suspected she looked older than she actually was, and it was just years of hard living and too much tanning that made her come off as older than he. At any rate, the apparent age disparity, real or imagined, was consistent with her bizarre penchant to take alternatively motherly and flirtatious tacks with him. “Sherman got you working late again?”

“Of course,” Laura responded dryly. “I’ll have a rigatoni with sausage and peppers to go, please.”

“You got it, sweetie,” Ellen said, making a note on a ticket before swigging from a tumbler of wine she kept behind the counter. “What’ll it be, Bill?”

“Spaghetti and meatballs,” he said decisively. Laura giggled at him; he always got the same thing.

“The judge need dinner, too?” Ellen asked.

“Not tonight,” Laura said, leaning on the counter and propping her chin on her clasped hands in a concession to the exhaustion she felt. Ellen shrugged and turned to head back into their kitchen to put their orders together, taking her wine with her.

Bill looked over at his co-worker and wished he could push the mass of red curls aside and rub her tense shoulders for her, kiss the soft skin of her neck until she melted against him pliantly. His initial attraction to her hadn’t abated in the four months they’d been working together, and with the late hours they worked, it wasn’t exactly as if he were going out and meeting other women on a regular basis. Moreover, he had to admit to himself, as he had to Saul, that he wasn’t particularly interested in meeting other women.

Laura was hard to read, though. She clearly didn’t mind working with him; she frequently asked his advice about tough legal questions she came across in her work, shared court gossip with him, and was just very pleasant to be around, smiling or giggling as they worked together in the quiet sanctuary of chambers. He knew that she liked reading mysteries, because she sometimes had one with her for her train commute. For whatever reason--a desire to keep things professional on her part, a self-preservational reticence on his, perhaps-- they didn’t speak much of their personal lives to one another, so he still didn’t even know if she was dating anyone.

He resolved to find out. Judge Cottle had basically just given them a heads up not to expect much personal time for the rest of their clerkship. That meant more time in chambers with Laura.

As they waited for their food, he swiveled on his stool to face her. “So...we’ll be working even more. Great.”

“Great,” Laura echoed dully. She shook her head and gave him a sweet smile. “I’m sorry, Bill, I’m just tired. My brain is on overload, between the trial and the motions I’ve been working on.”

“Hey, hey, if anyone can do it, you can,” he said sincerely. “You have a great work ethic. And you’re brilliant.”

She blushed. “You’re no slouch, either. I think that’s why we work together so well.”

He twiddled his thumbs nervously. “So you’re not upset about that warning we got tonight from the judge? I mean, I know it’s not exactly a change from how things have gone the past few months, but...anyone special going to be upset that you’re working all the time?”

Laura burst out laughing. “Bill Adama! ‘Anyone special’? Are you asking me if I’m dating anyone?”

His face was impassive. “Just making conversation.”

The way he refused to meet her eyes made Laura suspect that that wasn’t exactly true, but she humored him. “My mother keeps trying to set me up with ‘nice Jewish boys’ from her synagogue,” she admitted, “but no, I haven’t really seen anyone seriously since law school.” She shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "Between the hours I worked at the firm and now here...who’s got the time, really? And everyone who works in chambers or the Clerk’s Office is a woman except for you and the Judge so, I’m not exactly awash in eligible bachelors, am I?” She gave him an enigmatic smile.

The look he gave her was just as puzzling. “I see your dilemma.”

“So, what about you? Are you dating anyone?”

“I was with someone when I was working for the Navy.”

"That was at least four years ago! What about now?”

He was about to answer when Ellen returned from the kitchen with their food, causing them to break eye contact. He pulled out a twenty and handed it to Ellen, telling Laura, “This one’s on me, okay? You can tell your mother a young hotshot lawyer bought you dinner, use it to get her off your back about the set-ups if you want.”

“Not likely if she finds out how this ‘date’ ends--with hours of work,” groused Laura.

Bill looked at her quizzically. “Who said this was a date?”

“You’re buying me dinner, isn’t that a date?”

Ellen looked from Laura to Bill and back to Laura. “A date? You two finally gettin’ together?” she shrieked. “‘Bout damn time!”

Bill ignored her ( _Thanks a lot, Saul_ , he thought uncharitably, _loose lips sink ships, my ass_ ), collecting his change and the takeout bag. He grabbed a few prewrapped packages of utensils and parmesean cheese and threw them atop the food boxes before turning to go.

“This is dinner, not a date. A date ends with a kiss.”

Laura followed him out the door, the bells above them chiming as it swung closed. “Mr. Adama, a date does not have to end with a kiss,“ she argued, her tone serious and professional, making him smile as he walked in front of her. “A date is simply an agreement to go out socially. It can consist of any activity deemed agreeable to both parties and need not be romantic in nature.”

He decided to turn the tables. “So then you lied to me, Miss Roslin,” he said, matching her tone and sudden formality.

“I never lied.”

“You said you weren’t dating anyone. But by your definition, you and I are dating. Have been for months.”

“How do you figure?”

“We have lunch together almost everyday...”

“In chambers, while working,” she started to argue, but he was undeterred.

“...thereby tacitly agreeing to see each other socially, as our job does not strictly require that we take meals together, nor work through lunch. At least twice a week we stay late and get takeout.”

“But we’re working,” she protested again.

“By choice. Just as we chose to go to Ambrosia’s together. ‘An agreement to go out socially, engaging in an activity,’ in this case getting takeout, ‘deemed agreeable to both parties.’”

They nodded at the court security officers at the door and made their way back toward chambers.

“Does that not then meet your criteria for a date?” he asked.

“I guess it does,” she admitted.

“Then it’s settled. We’re dating,” he announced as they entered the elevator. She pressed the button for the fourth floor and they both turned to the front, their faces breaking into smiles as the doors closed on them.

Stopping off at the vending machine for some caffeine, Laura insisted on buying Bill’s Coke for him before getting a Tab for herself. They both worked as they ate their meals, reading briefs and making notations. Then they worked some more, the loud clacking of his typewriter drowning out the softer clicks of her computer keyboard. Finally, around midnight, Bill looked over at Laura; her productivity seemed to have diminished as much as his. “I’ve done about all I can for tonight. You ready to head out?”

She nodded, barely seeing him through sleepy eyes. “Yeah, sure.” She straightened up the piles on her desk with muted precision and shut down her computer terminal as Bill did the anachronistic equivalent, placing a felted cover over his typewriter. He finished before her and again grabbed both of their coats.

As they left chambers, Laura’s heels echoed loudly in the deserted courthouse. They were both tired, and the cold wind was unpleasantly brisk, but their walk out to the parking lot was spent in a companionable silence.

He pulled up to the station just as the whistle of a train announced its impending arrival. Opening the door, she hesitated.

“Well, goodnight, Bill. Thank you for dinner, it’s on me next time, all right? And I really appreciate the ride, as always.” She started to step out of the car.

“Hey, it’s the least I could do for my ‘date,’” he called after her.  



	4. February 1988

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Laura cares for a sick co-worker.

  


Laura let herself into chambers and found them completely dark. A little unusual; Bill usually arrived a bit before she did in the mornings, taking care of turning on all the lights and the Xerox machine and making the morning’s first pot of coffee. She shrugged and flipped the switches herself.

Sitting at her desk, she rubbed her temples while she waited for her computer to boot up. She’d really been taking Bill for granted, she realized, when she went to go make coffee and couldn’t locate the correct supplies to do so. Hopefully he’d be in soon and help avert her impending caffeine headache.

“Good morning!” Laura heard Ishay call from the main office a short while later. Layne poked her head into the clerks’ workspace and was clearly surprised to find Laura alone there.

“Where’s Bill?” Layne asked futilely. Laura shrugged and held up her hands, growing slightly concerned at realizing Bill was not scheduled to be out today.

Just then, the phone rang, causing Laura to literally jump in her seat. As Layne was away from her desk at the moment, Laura answered the phone herself. “Judge Cottle’s chambers.”

“Laura. Hi,” Bill rasped, his voice impossibly deeper than usual. He sounded like he had a sore throat.

“Where are you?” She tried to keep the obvious concern out of her voice.

He chuckled a little. “I’m sick, I can’t come in today, that’s all.” He paused to cough loudly away from the receiver.

Laura's face fell. "Sorry to hear that, Bill. Do you need anything?"

"Nah, just some rest, I think."

"I'm embarrassed to have to ask this, but do you know where we keep the coffee filters?"

"Layne could show you, but they're in the cabinet over the sink." Bill lapsed into another coughing fit.

"Oh...of course," she said awkwardly. "I'll let you go, then. Hope you feel better soon, Bill."

"Have a good day, Laura. See you tomorrow."

"Bye, Bill." She hung up slowly and realized Layne was looking at her with interest.

"What?" Laura asked mildly.

"You look like someone just shot your dog," the secretary observed. "So Bill's out sick, I take it?"

"Yes." She drew out the word, a mournful dirge.

“You gonna be okay in here all by your lonesome?” teased Layne.

Laura’s face was still sad as she got up to find the coffee filters. “I’ll be fine. Probably get lots of work done today without Bill here to distract me.”

“Does he?” Layne inquired. “Distract you?”

Laura shot her a warning look. “Not like _that_ ,” she said primly.

Having successfully managed to operate the coffee machine, Laura was in fact quite productive for the remainder of the morning. The judge was out at a conference, so the Cavello trial had been adjourned for the day.

Around one she realized she was hungry and automatically looked over at Bill’s desk with the intention of asking him if he wanted to go get lunch. Disappointment coursed through her as she remembered that she was flying solo today.

Grabbing her purse, she stopped at Layne’s desk on her way out. “I’m going to Ambrosia’s. Can I pick anything up for you?”

“No, thanks. I’ll see you in a bit.”

The walk to the restaurant seemed lonely without Bill at her side, even as people on their way to or from court surrounded her on the sidewalk. Only the chiming of the bells above the entrance to Ambrosia’s awoke her from her morose state.

"Hi, Laura, honey," called Ellen from the counter. "Where’s your partner in crime?"

"Out sick today," replied Laura, removing her heavy coat and settling onto a stool. "Could I have the pasta e fagoli soup, please?"

"Want it to go?"

Laura considered. "I’ll just eat here, thanks."

"You got it." Within moments Ellen returned with a steaming bowl of tomato-based soup and set it in front of her. Laura inhaled deeply, allowing the soup to chase away the cold that still clung to her skin from her brief journey outdoors.

Ellen grabbed a few packets of saltines from a basket under the counter and placed them next to Laura’s bowl. "It’s so strange to see you without him," remarked Ellen.

"Who, Bill?" asked Laura petulantly, stirring her soup to cool it.

"Of course, Bill." Ellen leaned toward Laura conspiratorially. "Isn’t he so cute?"

"Who, Bill?" Laura repeated. Her head snapped up. "What?"

Ellen laughed. "He’s not conventionally good-looking, I suppose, but"– she waved a hand toward the back, where Laura presumed Saul was slaving over a hot stove– "I’ve never really been too concerned about that."

Laura shrugged and continued eating. She knew she’d seen Ellen flirting with Bill before– harmlessly, she’d thought, as Ellen and Saul seemed so in love, even if they did abuse each other from time to time– but was Ellen _interested_ in Bill?

"Nice arms, big strong chest, obviously stays in shape," Ellen continued. "Bet he gives great hugs."

 _He does_ , thought Laura. She’d been on the receiving end of one after a particularly tough day at work involving some attorney calling chambers, asking her for an extension of a briefing deadline, and then misrepresenting what she’d said to the judge when the attorney got called out for failing to comply with her instructions. The judge had defended her, but she’d still felt terrible. Bill hadn't known the details of the incident, but had picked up on her sour mood, and had come over to her desk while the judge was on the bench and Layne was retrieving the mail and demanded that she stand up. She'd refused at first, wary and frustrated, but he was insistent, and of course she couldn't spurn his friendly advances when he smiled like that at her. So she'd half-stood, and he pulled her up the rest of the way and enveloped her in his arms, squeezing her tightly, patting her back. It was the most action she'd gotten in almost a year.

"Bill’s got nice big feet, too," mused Ellen. "You know what they say–"

"Ellen, STOP!" cried Laura, horrified. "I had no idea you were checking out Bill all these times we’ve come here together." She resented the flare of jealousy she felt at the older woman’s complimentary cataloging of Bill’s physical attributes.

The truth was that she did think Bill was cute. She’d like to run her fingers through his thick, dark hair, grown out much longer since she’d first met him; slide her hands along his well-muscled arms; wrap her arms around his neck as he pulled her against him and leaned down to kiss her...

 _Easy, Laura_ , she chided herself for indulging such thoughts. Even if they were directly inspired by Ellen’s cheap discourse.

Ellen left her alone to finish her soup, smirking over her shoulder at Laura as she went into the dining room to bus tables. When she returned to the counter a few minutes later, Laura was gloomily pushing lonely kidney beans around in her bowl.

“All done, sweetie?” Ellen asked as she moved to clear it away.

“I am, thanks. Would you mind packing up another order of this soup to go? I’d like to take some to Bill after work.”

Ellen nodded her understanding and turned to fill the order, muttering to herself, “Oh, sweet Laura! You do have it bad for him.”

Saul overheard her. “What are you doing, woman?” he hissed. “You are gonna ruin everything for the poor guy! I never should’ve told you...”

Ellen’s eyes flashed at her husband. “I am _helping_ , Saul! I just got Laura thinking about how cute and nice Bill is.”

“Yeah, how cute and nice _you_ think Bill is. Trying to make her jealous?”

Ellen shrugged. “Whatever works, Saulie.” She held out a plastic quart container over the industrial-sized pot and tapped her foot as Saul ladled soup into it. As she efficiently wrapped up the takeout order, Saul lectured her. “Back off a little, would ya? He’ll come around eventually. So will she.”

“I just want them to be as happy as we are,” she snapped, glaring at him over her shoulder as she went to take the parcel to Laura.

 

When she got back to chambers, takeout bag in hand, Laura steeled herself to ask Layne a favor.

“You want Bill’s address so you can go to his house?” Layne repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, and take him this soup,” Laura said impatiently.

"I’m just surprised you don’t already know where he lives," Layne explained defensively. "Hasn’t he driven you home before?"

"He usually just drives me to the train station, but yes, on a few occasions when there were bad delays, he drove me home to Jersey City. But I’ve never been to his house."

Her mood lightened when she thought about Bill driving her around. He’d started giving her rides to the train station most evenings back when the end of daylight savings caused the darkness to fall earlier and the nights grew colder. She’d been amused the first time she saw the old maroon hatchback, obviously lovingly maintained if its gleam under the lights of the parking lot were any indication. Her first impression was that this car-- a Datsun 240Z, the back of the hatch told her-- fit him perfectly. Fun and sporty, but solid, not some kind of phallic proxy. And experience had borne that out.

While Laura was lost in these automotive musings, Layne had pulled open a desk drawer, her fingers dancing over the tabs of hanging folders as she sought Bill’s personnel file. Locating it, she pulled it out and opened it on her desk, grabbing a piece of paper and copying out an address.

"The Ivy Hill Park Apartments?" Laura said in surprise. "Wow, he’s really gone out of his way to take me home. That’s in the opposite direction."

"I’m sure he didn’t mind helping you out," Layne said, trying to suppress her smile. "How are you going to get there?"

"I thought I would leave here on the early side, since the Judge is out, and take a cab."

Layne nodded. "Good idea. You might want to have the cab wait for you there; that area can be a little rough."

"I’ll do that," Laura agreed. "Thanks, Layne. I appreciate it."

"Well, I think it’s very sweet of you to do this for him. I know he will, too."

Laura had already started walking back toward her office. She froze at Layne’s last words; what would Bill read into the gesture, if anything? She mentally shrugged off her doubts. Just a friend looking out for another friend. Right?

　  
At five-thirty, Laura’d had enough and Layne had already left for the day. _The mice play while the cat’s away_ , Laura thought, remembering Layne’s initial explanation as to why working hours became significantly shorter on days Judge Cottle was not in chambers.

She gathered up her things, including the intended offering for Bill and the slip of paper containing his address, and left chambers, stopping in the ladies’ room to run her fingers through her hair and apply a little lipstick. As she made her way downstairs, she resolved to stop at the convenience store around the corner for some ginger ale as well. The security officers in the lobby teased her as she waved goodbye: "Half day, Laura? Have a good evening!"

She picked up the ginger ale and hailed a cab on Mulberry Street, growing increasingly nervous at the fact that she was about to show up at Bill’s unannounced. She probably should have called to let him know she was coming over, she fretted. He’d never invited her over before; maybe he lived with roommates who could have gotten him soup and soda. She had no idea, and was slightly ashamed to realize she knew so little about his living situation.

 _At least I’m pretty sure there’s no girlfriend_ , she reassured herself, thinking back to their conversation at Ambrosia’s a few weeks prior. Although he never did get a chance to answer her direct question whether he was currently seeing anyone. The thought made her pulse race. Oh god! Was she about to make a damn fool of herself?

She tormented herself with this line of thinking long after Market Street turned into West Market Street and she grew closer to her destination. She pulled out a pen and legal pad from her purse and began scrawling a note:

> _Dear Bill,  
>  I am sorry you’re not feeling well. Chambers was so quiet today without you there.  
> Ellen sends her best.  
> Hope to see you tomorrow._

> _Laura._

She tucked the note into the sack containing the soup and ginger ale, still ambivalent about whether it would be needed.

At last signs for Ivy Hill Park appeared. The cab pulled up to the driveway of Bill’s building in the huge complex, and the driver turned expectantly to Laura. The meter read seven dollars.

She pulled out a twenty and handed it to him. "Would you mind waiting for me here? I’ll just be a few minutes and come back down."

The cabbie glared at her. "What, you going up there to pick up some drugs or something?"

Her cheeks burned. "What? No!" Fumbling through her purse, she pulled out her court ID and flashed it at him. "I’m a federal court employee, for crying out loud. I’m just trying to take my sick co-worker some soup." She dug around some more and pulled out a five, angrily thrusting it through the partition. "Now will you wait, or not?"

He accepted the money. "Sure."

Grumbling "asshole" under her breath, she gathered her things and stalked through the chilly evening air to the lobby, where she signed in as a guest.

Riding the elevator up to the fifteenth floor–marked "penthouse," she noted– she psyched herself up to impose upon Bill. She took the note back out of the bag and stuffed it in her coat pocket, realizing the only rational course of action would be to try to talk to him instead of placing the bag on the floor, ringing the bell, and running away like some elementary-school prankster.

She discerned the correct direction off the elevator and walked purposefully down the hall toward unit 1505. Noting the homemade label "Adama" on the knocker, she breathed a sigh of relief at the absence of any other name. Clutching her bags in her left arm, she rapped the brass fixture lightly.

A few moments passed, and she wasn’t sure whether she heard rustling or not. She knocked harder, three times, and waited again.

The door swung open and they found themselves both staring at each other in equal amounts of shock: Bill in surprise at Laura’s presence on his doorstep, Laura at Bill’s current attire– or lack thereof. He wore low-slung black sweatpants, and nothing else. His wavy hair was mussed; _so that’s what he looks like straight out of bed._ Laura licked her lips, her mouth suddenly dry.

"Laura," Bill finally said, slowly, as if he couldn’t quite decide whether she was there or just a fever-induced hallucination. "What are you doing here?"

She held out the grocery sack sheepishly. "I felt bad that you were sick, and thought you might like some soup and ginger ale," she explained, trying hard to keep her eyes level with his and not on his smooth chest and certainly not the light smattering of hair on his lower belly disappearing into his waistband.

He accepted the bag and waved for her to come inside, closing the door behind her. "Thank you," he said earnestly, his voice still lower and huskier than usual. "How’d you find where I live?"

"Ishay had it on file," she said, looking around the small but tidy apartment. "How are you feeling?"

He eased into a chair at the table in the eat-in kitchen and gestured an invitation for her to sit. "Lousy," he admitted with only a modicum of self-pity.

She tentatively walked toward him and placed the back of her hand to his forehead. "You don’t feel too hot," she said hopefully.

"Yeah, it comes and goes," he rasped. "My body can’t figure out whether it’s hot or cold, which is why I’m wearing this”–he waved a hand at his unclothed torso–“so I can just throw off the blankets when I get too hot." He leaned against the table, propping his head up on his hand.

"You live here alone?" she ventured.

"Yeah, I lived here during law school because it’s so close to Seton Hall, figured I might as well stay in the same place for the clerkship– moving’s a bitch."

"It is," she agreed with a smile, thinking back to her own mishap-filled move back to Jersey. She really should have sued the moving company for breaking that entire box of leaded crystal glassware.

"Also, I like living here because the complex has a boxing gym– it's a pretty unusual amenity," he laughed. "I try not to let the young guys beat up on me too much."

"I bet you do okay," Laura offered shyly, trying hard not to inspect his physique too closely in response to that bit of information. She bit her lip and looked away.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked. Laura was touched at his attempt to be a gracious host, even in his obviously compromised state.

"No, I’ve got to get going– there’s a cab waiting for me downstairs," she said with some regret.

She really wouldn’t mind staying here for a bit, keeping him company...

Maybe another time.

He stood up and walked her to the door. "Thanks for thinking of me, Laura," he said, squeezing her shoulder gently. "You’re a good friend."

She smiled. "Feel better, Bill." On a sudden infusion of daring, she brought her hand up to his forehead, as if to check for fever again, but ended up ruffling his hair instead. She felt him let himself lean into her touch a little.

She turned into the hall and smiled as she left, pleased with herself and with him. So that’s what it felt like to run her fingers through Bill Adama’s hair.  



	5. March 1988

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A future Supreme Court justice recruits Cottle's clerks for the US Attorney's office.

  


Bill and Laura both looked up from their work at hearing the whining drone of the buzzer outside the door to their chambers. Glancing at the monitor showing the exterior door-- she had the better view of it-- Laura gasped.

“It’s the US Attorney,” she said, surprised. “Sam Alito. I wonder why he’s coming here.”

Actually, she had a suspicion it might have something to do with Bill’s recent job search efforts.

He hadn’t come outright and told her he had his heart set on becoming an Assistant United States Attorney, but she’d picked up on his offhand remarks and his obvious interest in getting to know the AUSAs appearing before Judge Cottle on various matters. And he’d certainly become the lead clerk in the Cavello trial, though that was fine by her.

They had become closer over the course of their time working together, though not as close as she suspected either of them might like to be. She had some concerns about decorum, not that they'd let that stop them from joking about their “dates” born of necessity by the long hours they worked when it was just the two of them, which it frequently was.

They shared a friendly ease in each other’s company, cultivated over many hours working together in close quarters. And though Laura thought she had caught Bill checking her out on previous occasions, he hadn’t tried to make any kind of move. She thought that very intriguing, and admired his restraint-- up to a point.

If she were being honest with herself, she would admit that her fondness for him was not limited to appreciation of their friendship, that she found herself attracted to him. That she wished for some indication that he felt the same way.

She forced these thoughts from her mind as she heard Layne greeting Mr. Alito in the next room. She looked at Bill. “Do _you_ know why he’s here?” she asked casually.

“What? Um, not really,” he stuttered, his face reddening.

A predatory smile crept across her lips. “You do know why he’s here! Spill it, Bill,” she stage-whispered.

He looked unsettled. “I, uh, applied to the US Attorney’s Office last week. I told the Judge, and I think he’s going to try to help me get hired.”

“That’s great, Bill! You should have told me, though,” she said, mock-chiding him with a wagging finger. “I think you would make an excellent AUSA.” She strained to hear the muffled sounds coming from the other room. “And I guess the Judge must, too.” She rose from her chair and came around to his desk, tugging his arm. “Let’s go try to hear what they’re saying.”

Looking appalled, Bill shook his head vehemently. “Are you crazy?” he whispered.

She glared at him. “Fine, I’ll go listen for you.” She looked down the hall to the door to the Judge’s office and noticed it wasn’t closed the whole way.

Sauntering out of their office under the pretense of needing to get some supplies out of the cabinet in the main room, Laura retrieved some pens and sticky notes before gesturing for silence at a very amused Ishay and crouching down at the hinged side of the cracked door to the judge’s office, hidden from the men within.

Straining slightly, both in terms of hearing the conversation and balancing in her three-inch pumps, Laura found she could catch the gist of the exchange.

“That boy is a straight arrow, Sam,” Cottle was saying. “Totally apolitical, completely loyal, ethical to a fault.”

“Somewhat surprising, given his background, isn’t it?” Alito asked.

“Don’t worry about the father. Joseph Adama doesn’t show up much in Jersey, anyway, tends to stick to Manhattan and Brooklyn.”

She couldn’t catch Alito’s response, but Cottle’s gravelly voice rang out again. “Smart as a motherfucker and works his ass off, no doubt about it. My other clerk, too, if you want to give her a go.”

Laura stifled a laugh at Cottle’s endorsement, such as it was.

“Laura’s got more of a knack for seeing the big picture, understanding people’s motivations. She’d be a great judge someday, actually; I think she’d settle a hell of a lot of cases, get people to cut through the crap. But he’s the one you want making the tough decisions, whether to pull the trigger on serving a subpoena to a high-profile figure or handing up an indictment that’ll cause ripples. He doesn’t get distracted by fame, or influence; he’s just totally focused on the fair administration of the law.”

“Sounds like a formidable pair,” drawled Alito.

“Oh yeah, that’s the other thing. They are a great fucking team. Work late all the time, help each other out. I’ve been around a long time, Sam, and I can honestly say this is the best goddamn set of clerks I’ve ever had.” He paused, Laura knew not for dramatic effect or to emphasize his last point, but to light a cigarette. She imagined him offering one to the visitor, the visitor declining, Cottle shrugging, and lighting up before continuing the conversation.

Right on cue-- _I’ve been here too long_ , she thought, he started speaking again. “The opinions they’ve worked on together have been fantastic. I think he’s a little sweet on her, but that might be because I’m an old fucking softie,” Cottle laughed.

Taking that tidbit as her cue to leave, and figuring she had at least until the end of that cigarette to safely make it back to her desk, Laura rose carefully. She grimaced at the ache in her knees and quietly walked back to their office.

She ignored Bill’s pleading look and pretended to get back to work, her mind whirring. They worked in silence for about ten minutes, Bill obviously antsy, before the judge came back to their office with the US Attorney in tow.

“All right, you two,” he said with a puff of the ubiquitous cigarette, “stop working for five minutes so I can introduce you. This is _the_ United States Attorney, bringer of indictments and prosecutor of bad guys. Samuel Alito, my clerks, Bill Adama and Laura Roslin.”

“Very nice to meet you both,” Alito said, offering them each his hand in turn. “Bill, the office was pleased to receive your application. We’ll see about getting you in for some interviews soon.” Bill nodded earnestly.

“And Ms. Roslin, from what I hear, you’d be a fine addition to the USAO as well. I hope you’ll consider applying.”

“I’ll do that, Mr. Alito,” she said, smiling.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to it, then. Bill, I’ll see you soon, no doubt.” With a brisk nod that seemed to achieve the effect of dismissing himself from their presence, he took his leave.

Laura and Bill waited to see if the judge would go back to his office or come talk to them, and when it became clear from the closing of the heavy door to his office that it was the former, they abandoned their silent charade and started talking quietly.

“Laura! Tell me what they said!” Bill hissed urgently.

“I can’t believe you didn’t even tell me you were applying!” she shot back. “Look, let’s talk about it over dinner in a little while, all right? We’ll go to Ambrosia’s, have some spaghetti and meatballs, maybe a drink or two.” She gave him an encouraging smile. “Don’t worry, Bill. It was all good, what the Judge said about you.”

Bill visibly relaxed at her vague assurance. “Fine. Dinner. We’ll talk. My treat though; I owe you for undertaking that little recon mission on your own.”

Laura had already turned back to her computer and was busily tapping away. “Fine,” she said calmly. Thinking back to Cottle’s observation, she squirmed slightly in her seat. “It’s a date,” she whispered, almost to herself.

They worked diligently for several more hours before her hunger proved too much a distraction to continue. “Ready to head out?” Laura asked brightly around eight o’clock.

Bill nodded absently, apparently still engrossed in Federal Practice and Procedure. “Umm, yeah, gimme just a second,” he muttered, rooting blindly through his desk drawer for some stickies to mark the four or five places in the heavy volume he currently had marked with his fingers.

Laura had already retrieved her jacket and purse and was tapping her foot impatiently by the door. “Don’t you want to know what Cottle said to Alito, Bill?” she inquired enticingly. “Let’s go! I’m hungry.”

“Coming, coming,” he grumbled, making one last note before closing the book with a resounding _thwap_.

They walked briskly to Ambrosia’s, their footsteps loud on the quiet street. Her long legs were about the same length as his bowed ones, and she easily matched him stride for stride.

As they walked, she couldn't help but continue to think about Cottle's earlier comments. She was pretty sure she wouldn't be telling Bill that the judge thought Bill was "sweet" on her. She didn't know why Bill was so reluctant to push their friendship further, but she wouldn't force his hand with the judge's observation, no matter how much she might hope it to be accurate.

But the US Attorney had invited her to apply to be an AUSA right in front of Bill; that was something they would have to discuss tonight. The fact that the judge thought they were a great... _team_ , no need to include the judge’s colorful modifier, would certainly be relevant to such a discussion.

And as annoyed as she was that Bill hadn't deigned to inform her that he was pursuing a career as a federal prosecutor–especially since it wasn't exactly a surprise to anyone who knew him–she had to admit to herself that she hadn't been forthcoming to him about her own post-clerkship opportunities and plans. _Well_ , she thought as they reached the restaurant, _we're about to remedy that_.

He held the door for her at the cafe and nodded toward the dining room, as opposed to the counter where they usually ordered or ate when they were in a rush.

Saul Tigh saw them come in and walked up to escort them to a table.

"Hey Bill, Laura," was his friendly greeting. "How are my number one customers doing tonight?" At their sheepish shrugs he bellowed, "Good, good!"

"Anything to drink?" he asked once they were seated.

"I'll have a glass of the house white," Laura said definitively.

"If Ellen can spare it," cracked Bill. "Red, please. And my usual."

"Spaghetti and meatballs it is...Laura, what can I get you, hon?"

Glancing down at the never-changing menu, she quickly decided on the penne vodka and handed the wrinkled laminate back to Saul. She watched him retreat, hollering their drink orders to Ellen, before turning to Bill.

“You sure you want to know what he said?” she teased.

Bill rolled his eyes. “C’mon Laura. Give over. I’ve been in suspense for hours.”

“Weeeelllll.” Just then Saul returned with their wine, which she accepted gratefully. Once they were alone again, she leaned forward and continued.

“Cottle called you a hard-working, smart-ass motherfucker.” She furrowed her brow and sipped her wine contemplatively. “Or was it, 'smart as a motherfucker, and works his ass off'?” She laughed at Bill’s stricken face. “Bill, you know how he is! That’s really high praise, coming from him.”

“What else?” he pressed anxiously before taking a long pull of wine.

“He said you’re a straight arrow and Alito shouldn’t worry about your father-- that you are your own man, basically.”

Bill’s relieved expression broke her heart a little. He worked so hard to distinguish himself from his seedy, if successful, father. She knew the elder Adama cast a long shadow for him to escape, even if they didn’t talk about it directly.

“He also called you ‘totally apolitical, completely loyal, and ethical to a fault.’”

“Is that a direct quote?” Bill asked, obviously pleased.

“It is,” she confirmed, shifting in her seat and accidentally brushing her leg against his under the small table. “I thought you’d like that.”

“Anything else interesting get said?” Bill’s eyes plaintively searched hers; she couldn’t resist getting lost in those blue depths.

“That we make a great team and we’re the best set of clerks he’s ever had,” she said proudly, holding his gaze.

Their dinner’s arrival interrupted the moment, and they both silently dug in for a few minutes minutes, reflecting upon what had already been said. Ellen came by with a bottle of wine in each hand and topped off their glasses. “On the house,” she grinned. “If only to prove to you, Bill Adama, that I can and do, in fact, share my wine.” Noticing that there was only a splash left in the bottle of white after she’d filled Laura’s glass, she brought it to her lips and polished it off as she unsteadily walked away.

“So you tell me, now,” Laura began, pushing her plate away for the time being. “Why all the secrecy? You could have told me about applying to be an AUSA.”

Bill took his time answering. “I guess...I just didn’t want to really think about this clerkship being over, not working with you any more.” He chased a meatball around the plate with his fork. “Talking about it seemed like it would make it real, you know? I guess that’s pretty stupid.” He finally looked up at her. “I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret from you, Laura, I swear.”

She smiled sympathetically. “Bill, I will miss not working with you every day, too. Unless...”

“Unless what?” Bill asked hopefully.

“Alito did invite me to apply-- I mean, I’d thought about it a little, but being asked straight out to send in an application is pretty motivating. And I think I’d really enjoy the work.” She sipped her wine. “I was leaning away from going back to private practice, anyway,” she said with a slight shudder, thinking back to the grueling environment of her old law firm.

“You should do it,” he encouraged. “I wish I had realized it was something you were interested in pursuing, too. I’m sorry Laura, I should have been more transparent.”

She waved off his apology. “It’s fine, Bill. I was just getting started in my job search myself, you know.” She speared a forkful of penne and took a bite. “I’ve had an offer from the Mayor to be his legal advisor for civil rights.”

“The mayor of Newark? Richard Adar?” Bill asked, disdain evident on his face. “Are you considering it?”

“Considering, yeah,” she sighed. “This city is such a mess, and constantly being sued; it would be a great professional challenge to coordinate the litigation efforts and advise the different city departments about how to avoid getting sued in the first place. And I got the sense that he really did want to make a difference in that regard.” She absently tore a roll into small pieces, scattering them on her plate. “To be honest, he kind of made me uncomfortable, though. I think he came on to me during our meeting.”

Bill looked angry, and Laura felt an involuntary surge of endearment at his obvious expression of protectiveness. “That guy is a sleazeball, Laura,” he said warningly. “First elected to City Council at age twenty, and went on a smear campaign against the guy who mentored him into office by age twenty-two. He’s a thug in a suit and a smile.” He paused, considering. “I mean, if you are interested in elective office, I guess getting in his good graces could be important, though.”

Laura shook her head. “I’m not interested,” she assured him. “In running for office, that is.”

He grinned widely. “Good. You’re too good an attorney to lose to the politics game.” He tentatively reached out to rest his fingers atop the back of her hand. “So you’ll apply to the USAO?”

She maneuvered their joined hands to effect a firm shake. “Yes, Bill. I will.”

As they finished their meals, their conversation turning to lighter matters, Laura’s mind raced with thoughts of the implications of her and Bill continuing to work together. She’d thought that maybe the reason they hadn’t acknowledged their mutual attraction was the potential for awkwardness in the office, or perhaps the idea that adding even more time together to their already long hours could be stifling. She had admitted to herself months ago that she’d hoped their relationship might turn romantic once their clerkships ended, or at least once the end was in sight. But apparently Bill was put off by the idea of heading off to separate careers. She was flattered that he wanted to keep working with her, but frustrated that he couldn’t see that he could just ask her out if he wanted to keep seeing her.

Although it was premature to simply assume that they would both get hired as AUSAs, Cottle’s endorsement to Alito, paired with the US Attorney’s own verbal encouragement to both of them, certainly suggested a high likelihood of that happening. So now what? She wasn’t inclined to continue trying to ignore the chemistry they shared, the chemistry that had caused her heart to jump and her breathing to quicken just from the ghosting of his fingers over the back of her hand.

It might be time to heighten the stakes in this little game they had going, she thought. She looked at Bill inquiringly. “Ready to go?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’ll drive you to the station now if you don’t need to go back to chambers for anything,” Bill offered.

She smiled at his thoughtfulness. “I don’t. And I know you will. You always do.”

Their walk back to Bill's maroon Datsun in the lot adjacent to the courthouse was conducted at a leisurely pace, and Laura wasn't entirely sure whether the occasional brushing of shoulders and arms as they ambulated could be attributed to the wine, the narrow sidewalk, or the increasing magnetism between them. It was nice, she decided. She wanted more.

She grinned in thanks when he opened the passenger door for her and snuck sly smiles as he drove, seemingly singularly focused on the road. Only once he pulled up to the station and stopped the car did he look over at her again.

“Well, there’s my train,” Laura said breathlessly. “Thank you, for everything, Bill.” She leaned over the center console and kissed him on the cheek.

A slow smile crept across his face. “What was that for?” he asked, slightly incredulous.

She grinned. “It’s the least I could do for my ‘date’,” she said, imbuing new meaning to their nightly valediction. She opened the car door and began to get out but hesitated, debating with herself whether she’d been too subtle before settling on a thought of sudden clarity. “Restatement, Second, of Contracts, Section 19. Look it up!” She slammed the door shut and waved goodbye as she ascended the platform.

He watched her train disappear into the night sky. Well, he thought, there was no way he was going to go home without first following up on that little tip. He drove back to the courthouse and practically sprinted to the elevator. Bursting into chambers, anticipatory energy coursing through his limbs, he located the pertinent volume on the bookshelf next to Laura’s desk and scanned it with a shaking finger.

“Section eighteen, manifestation of mutual assent...section nineteen, conduct as manifestation of assent...” His mouth gaped as he considered the implication of her parting words.

He fumbled around his desk for a pen and a piece of paper, taking notes as he consulted several more sections of the Restatement and mentally berating himself for doing legal research in order to flirt with a woman he liked. However, if this was her game, he would happily play it. He thought for several moments about what he wanted to say, then yanked the cover off his typewriter and began drafting a memorialization of their apparently re-negotiated agreement.

> _Laura--  
>  I acknowledge and hereby reciprocate your manifestation of an intent to be bound to an agreement wherein a proffer of dinner or other mutually acceptable social engagement by the party of the first part may constitute a ‘date,’ entitling such party to a kiss from the party of the second part upon conclusion of such ‘date,’ and hereby confirm that a kiss, even on the cheek, constitutes more than nominal consideration to support such agreement._

> _Yours,  
>  Bill_

He briefly considered adding a countersignature line, but decided against it; too forward.

So she had come to reconsider her position and accept his original definition of ‘date’ after all. Not only that, but they’d apparently gone on one tonight. He boldly placed the note in her in-box and sat back at his desk, unable to wipe either the satisfied expression off his face or the image of a certain redhead leaning in toward him with undeniable affection from his mind.


	6. May 1988

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Background checks for their new jobs force Bill and Laura to take a closer look at the nature of their relationship.

  


“So do you know whether the USAO has started your background check?” Laura asked Bill over their desks. It was late afternoon, and she needed either a few cups of coffee or some conversation unrelated to the evolution of the Supreme Court’s burden-shifting methodology in employment discrimination cases to keep her conscious for the time being. “My mom mentioned to me last weekend that she’d gotten a call and the questions ranged from my sleeping habits to past drug use to whether I’ve ever had socialist tendencies.” She rolled her eyes.

Bill looked up from the brief he was reading. “I haven’t heard anything, no,” he said, his face suddenly registering concern.

“Why so anxious, Mr. Adama?” she teased. “There’s no way you’ve got skeletons in the closet. Straight arrow, distinguished servicemember, remember?”

He frowned. “My father,” he groaned, “is going to _hate_ this process. He’ll feel that my getting vetted will be an excuse for the feds to look into his practice. And his,” he cleared his throat, as if the gesture could remove him further from them, “clients.”

She shrugged sympathetically. “What can you do? Have you warned him at all?”

Bill shook his head. “I told him about the offer from the US Attorney’s office, and he seemed to be happy enough about it for me, but we didn’t go into the details.” He tossed the brief down onto his desk angrily. “I really hope it’s not going to be a problem. I mean, they wouldn’t have made me an offer if my father was some kind of dealbreaker, right?”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” she soothed. “Maybe give him a heads up that he might be getting a call. To discuss _you_ , not him,” she reminded him. “I think as long as you were never a member of the Communist Youth or running drugs while you were cruising around the Far East on that aircraft carrier, you should be free and clear.”

“Do you know of anyone else they contacted about you?” he asked. “I have no idea how in-depth this background examination gets.”

She hummed. “As far as I know, it’s just my mother, my law school roommate, and the partner I did most of my work for at the firm who have gotten calls. And I still have to go in for my polygraph.” She snorted. “That’ll be fun.”

Bill looked disgusted, and his lips curled in derision. “A polygraph? What the hell. They want to hire me, they should be able to do it without a freaking lie detector. A man’s only as good as his word.”

“Sorry, Bill. Don’t think you’ve got much of a choice.” Laura’s eyes caught his in an empathetic gaze. Bill was the most ethical person she knew, so she understood the umbrage he took at the notion of the government requiring that he submit the issue of his truthfulness to a notoriously fickle machine.

“I’ll be glad when this preliminary stuff is finished and we get our division assignments,” Bill said, shaking his head. Laura nodded in agreement. They were both hoping to be assigned to the criminal division, which was likely in any event because it was four times as big as the civil division, and the office didn’t assign new Assistant United States Attorneys to either the Appeals or Special Prosecutions divisions. But the thought triggered something that had occurred to her during her interview with Sam Alito when he’d obliquely inquired about her relationship with her co-clerk.

“You know,” she ventured, “I think they are going to ask us about each other.”

Bill goggled at her. “As background references?”

“It makes sense, right? We see each other all day, work all of”--she gestured between them--”four feet away from one another.”

“You think they’re going to ask us about each other at the _polygraph_?” he said, clearly horrified at the idea.

Laura shrugged, amused at his obvious discomfort at the proposition. _”How do you feel about William Adama,”_ she imagined the polygraph examiner asking her, then realized that question would never fly as it didn’t require a yes or no answer. She considered another, more plausible version of that inquiry: _”Have you ever slept with your co-clerk?”_ At least that was an easy one. She took a deep, cleansing breath and tried to remain calm for both of them.

“I don’t know, Bill,” she admitted. “Either then, or at the final interview after the background check is over.” She started laughing as yet another possible question occurred to her. _”Have you ever dated Bill Adama?”_ Now she felt some of Bill’s pain; what _would_ she say to such a question?

“What’s so funny?” he asked, looking slightly more relaxed. His concern returned as she continued laughing.

“I just-- oh god, Bill. I just had the thought--” She placed her hand over her chest, trying to will herself into submission. “What if they ask us if we’re dating?” She cracked up again, her upper body falling over onto her desk as she gave up any attempt to stop laughing.

“Oh.” His short, sad-tinged retort quieted her more effectively than any folk remedy for the giggles could have.

She looked up at him, her expression much more serious. “Bill-- it’s just funny, because, you know...”

“We joke about dating each other all the time,” he finished for her. “But we’re not.”

“Do you think polygraphs allow for that kind of sarcasm?” she inquired thoughtfully.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he said shortly.

“What if we _were_ dating?”

Bill picked his brief back up and began studying it intently. “Well, we’re not, so it’s a moot point,” he responded without looking at her.

She came around her desk and sat on the edge of his. “Bill, what’s wrong?”

He looked up at her, his hard expression softening just from being on the receiving end of her concerned question. “Damn it, Laura. I’m sorry. Between my interviews and the vetting and the neverending Cavello trial, I’m just on edge.”

“And it’s been like that for weeks. Why, all of a sudden, are you also sullen and distant?”

Bill dropped his head and shuffled some files on his desk; it was his standard stalling technique as he decided exactly what he was and wasn’t comfortable saying. “Did I ever tell you about the woman I was dating while I was in the Navy?”

She shook her head, knowing the payoff often came in waiting him out.

“She was a great girl, sweet and fun, but she couldn’t take me being deployed. Left me for an investment banker. It’s one of the reasons I didn’t go career. I couldn’t ask a woman to put up with an absentee partner.”

“And?” she asked.

“I feel like I’m doing it again. Asking a great girl,” he looked up at her, “a wonderful woman, to wait for me and play second fiddle to my career.”

Laura got a slight flutter in her stomach to know that he was talking about her. “Bill,” she said as she threaded her fingers through his hair. “Maybe she doesn’t see it that way. Maybe she’s more like you than you think. And maybe she wants to do everything she can to make your dreams a reality, even if that means waiting so your prospective employer doesn’t think you come with a partner, or baggage, or that you can’t keep your pen out of the company ink well.” She stopped and removed her hand, adding quietly, “And maybe, she feels the same way.”

That got her all of his attention.

She spoke in strong but measured tones, her eyes fixed on the arm of his rolling leather chair. “Bill, I am not worried about the damn polygraph, or Sam Alito or Joseph Adama. The only thing I am interested in, aside from continuing to work with you, is how our new jobs may affect my own potential as a person you might consider getting romantically involved with.” She paused and looked at him directly. “Because honestly, I don’t know about you, but I’ve been on a countdown to the end of this clerkship, and if you are telling me that I have to wait any longer then that, we may have to go back to the Restatement for some guidance.” She cracked a tentative smile. “I’m thinking the section on accord and satisfaction.”

“No need to renegotiate that contract right now,” he said, standing up, effectively pinning her against the edge of his desk, and wrapping his arms around her. She let her own slide up and around his shoulders. “I won’t make you wait,” he husked in her ear, then pulled back and looked into her eyes. He leaned in and brought his lips to her cheek, much as he had most every night for the last two months, but this time they lingered and he gently nuzzled her hair before he pulled away. “Thank you for understanding.”

She let her fingers drift up and into his hair again. “It’s the least I could do for my date,” she said. “Right?”

“It’s everything,” he told her.


	7. August 25, 1988

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A professional celebration turns personal as Bill and Laura enjoy an afternoon out and an evening in.

  


Bill and Laura sat next to one another at the table next to the judge’s dais at the front of the courtroom as Judge Cottle’s gravelly voice droned on. Having worked on the hundred-plus pages of complex jury instructions for weeks, Bill was familiar with the charge now being given to the jury and found it increasingly difficult to pay attention.

He glanced surreptitiously at Laura; she was doodling little hearts in the margin of a legal pad, her head tilted and her tongue occasionally peeking out to wet her bottom lip. Was she intentionally setting out to drive him crazy?

Laura caught him looking at her and raised an eyebrow, blushing furiously when he looked pointedly at her legal pad. She re-crossed her legs and flipped to a fresh page. He looked away, trying both to focus on the jury ( _hey_ , he thought, impressed, _they are all still awake, even that lazy Juror # 11_ ) and suppress his amused smile.

It had been a long journey, but after six weeks of summations, the case was finally going to the jury. Judge Cottle had been right on the money in his estimation of the timing, as well as the amount of work it had taken to get there. Their clerkships were slated to end the following week, certainly before the jury would come back with a verdict, but the judge had already assured them that they’d be most welcome to come back and sit in whenever the verdict would finally be read.

Bill flipped through his copy of the jury instructions and was pleased to find that the jury charge was nearly over. Only the familiar reminders not to talk about the case with family, friends, or especially, the press, remained. He checked his watch; it was only three o’clock on Thursday. _Good_ , he thought. The jury could get a jump on its deliberations today and work all day tomorrow as well.

Finally, Judge Cottle announced that the jury would be excused to begin their deliberations, and rose as the jury filed out of the courtroom. Once they had all exited, he looked at his clerks with a twinkle in his eye as he announced, “Court stands adjourned.”

The three of them shuffled back to chambers, the judge, as usual, motioning for Bill and Laura to come into his office for a post-court debriefing. To their surprise, he pulled a bottle of scotch and some Dixie cups out of a desk drawer and poured them each one before lighting his customary cigarette.

“And so it ends,” he said gruffly, raising his cup to them in a toast. “I’m sure those assholes will file post-trial motions out the wazoo while the jury deliberates. But you two are home free. Your replacements will have the pleasure of working on those.”

Bill and Laura couldn’t help but exchange pleased smiles from behind their paper cups. “I can see that, you know,” railed the judge, full of false ire. Suddenly he laughed. “Go on, get out of here, you two. Take the rest of the day off, and don’t come in tomorrow, either. You’ve earned a break. Go down the shore, have a night out on the town, see Bruce Springsteen, whatever it is you young people do. When you get back on Monday, you can wrap up whatever loose ends you’ve got hanging around here.”

Laura drained what remained of her scotch and started giggling. “Yes, sir! Whatever you say, Judge.” Grinning at Bill, she got up and left the office, heading straight for her desk and grabbing her purse.

The judge watched Bill watching Laura. “She’s not going to wait for you forever, you know.”

“I’m sorry Judge, what was that?”

“I said, go on, now, don’t keep a lady waiting,” he huffed, “we’ll get by just fine without your vaunted presence for a day or two.” Bill shrugged and finished his own drink, finding Laura waiting for him with his briefcase, standing in front of Layne’s desk.

“Ready?” she asked brightly.

He looked her up and down. “You have no idea,” he muttered.

They walked out of the courthouse together, both giddy at the unexpected excursion in the stifling afternoon sun. Laura shrugged out of her suit jacket and jumped up onto the retaining wall, swinging her legs happily. He stood next to her, admiring the golden glow the sunlight gave her hair. His eyes traveled down to her breasts, the thin silk material of her blouse clinging to them, and further down her legs, smooth and bare in a concession of formality to the August heat. Those long, perfect legs ended in delicate feet encased in black pumps, and Saul’s words to him all those months ago echoed in his head as he felt a rushing of blood to his groin at the thought of her wearing nothing but them. Suddenly very hot, he removed his own jacket and slung it over his arm.

“Want to go out and get a drink?” she asked him.

"I think we have to, by judicial order," he joked. "Ambrosia’s?"

She nodded an unspoken _obviously_ and hopped off the wall, pulling her sunglasses out of her bag as they walked toward the cafe.

Ellen gaped in surprise when they walked through the door of the nearly empty cafe. "Here for a late lunch, kids?"

“Mmm, more like an early cocktail,” explained Laura, pushing her hair back with her sunglasses. “Cottle’s sprung us loose for a long weekend, and we’re celebrating.”

Bill pulled out a chair for Laura at one of the tables and waited until she was seated before sitting across from her.

“What’re you celebrating, other than the judge giving you time off?” Ellen asked, bringing them drink menus.

“The end of the longest criminal trial in the history of the court, and the end of our clerkships,” Bill told her.

“Yes, next week is our last week with Judge Cottle,” Laura added.

Lower lip protruding, Ellen fake-sobbed. “You’re leaving us? But you’re my best customers!”

“We’re leaving Judge Cottle, but staying right here, Ellen,” Bill reassured her. “We’re both starting at the US Attorney’s Office next month.” He glanced at Laura, who smiled at his explanation of their future plans. “Same building and everything,” Laura added. “So I’m sure we’ll be eating here as often, if not more so, than we have in this past year.”

“Just can’t stay away from each other, huh? So what can I get you?”

Laura shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea. We’ve already had scotch this afternoon, but I don’t think I’d like any more of that...”

“Wine? Beer?” suggested Bill.

“Mmm, I don’t think so. I want a cocktail, I just don’t know what kind.” She looked beseechingly at Ellen. “Can you do something a little fruity or sweet for me?”

Ellen snickered. “I’ve got just thing for my favorite little lawyers. I’ll be right back.” She sashayed into the kitchen, yelling, “Saaaaul!”

Once Ellen was out of earshot, Bill narrowed his eyes playfully at Laura. “You sure that was a good idea?”

She shrugged. “It’s four o’clock on a beautiful summer afternoon and we’ve got nowhere to be for the next three days. I don’t think I have to be making good decisions at the moment.” She grinned. “I never get to make the fun choice over the right choice.”

Bill cleared his throat. “I do actually have somewhere to be this weekend-- I’ve got tickets to the Tyson-Spinks rematch fight at Madison Square Garden on Saturday night. A buddy of mine from Annapolis was supposed to go with me, but something came up and he can’t make it.” He looked down at his hands nervously. “Would you like to come with me?”

He was a little taken aback when he got up the nerve to look at her face again and saw her obviously delighted expression. “I’d love to,” she said.

“I didn’t know whether you followed boxing,” he probed gently, not masking his mild surprise at her apparent interest.

“Hmmm,” she affirmed, her voice dreamy. “My father was an avid fight fan. I adored my father, so I love a good fight.”

He didn’t miss the shadow of sadness that passed across her lovely face before she broke into a smile at Ellen’s arrival at the table, Saul following close behind. In one hand Ellen held an unlabeled bottle of viscous yellow liquid; in the other, four long-stemmed cordial glasses.

“Limoncello for my lazy baby lawyers,” Ellen declared in sing-song tones, setting the bottle and glasses in the middle of the table and sitting down. As Laura moved to playfully smack her with the little drinks menu, Ellen held up her hands in surrender. “I mean, ‘limoncello: afternoon libation of the indecisive,’” she amended.

“It’s always time for limoncello,” agreed Saul as he poured them each a shot. Bill guffawed amicably, accepting the proffered glass.

“A toast!” Ellen squealed excitedly. She raised her glass, and the others followed. “To Bill and Laura’s future success in their new jobs. May they never leave us, or each other.” She winked at Bill. Bill ignored Ellen’s knowing look at Saul as his gaze caught Laura’s over the raised glasses.

_I mean it._

_Me too._

_Don’t leave me._

_I would never._

While it was somewhat frustrating that most of their deep conversations about the state of their relationship seemed to take place silently and/or in front of other people, Bill would happily take what he could get. And having these silent conversations seemed to reinforce just how close they had gotten and how well they communicated with each other. Nonverbally, at least.

Moreover, she’d agreed to go out with him this weekend. On what he would make damn sure would be a _real_ date. He couldn’t help but grin into his glass as he sipped the sour-sweet liqueur.

Saul poured them all another shot as soon as Laura, the straggler in this endeavor, finished hers. "Bottoms up," he rasped cheerfully.

Bill proposed a toast -- "to Ambrosia's!"-- and sipped dutifully. The limoncello, though not his preferred beverage, went down easily enough, and Laura seemed to be enjoying hers.

The Tighs regaled them with tales of their yearly trips to the Caribbean, famous people to have come through Ambrosia’s (“ _Sinatra’s been here twice!_ ” noted Saul, a fact already very familiar to both Bill and Laura), and the trials and tribulations of small business ownership when one of the co-owners tends to drink away the profits through a third round of limoncello before Bill noticed that Laura’s eyes had turned glassy and her cheeks a little too flushed.

“Saul, Ellen, this has been lovely, but we’ve really got to get going,” Bill interrupted gently while Saul was once again reliving the glory of his victorious fight against a barracuda down in Cancun. “The dinner rush is starting, I’m sure you’ve got to get back to work anyway...”

“No, Bill! Stay for dinner, both of you,” pleaded Ellen. “Our treat to our favorite clerks.” She stood up. “I’m sure you both need to eat something. I can whip up your usual, real quick,” she offered.

“What do you mean, _you’ll_ whip up?” interjected Saul as he started off toward the kitchen. “You can barely boil the damn water, woman.”

Bill looked at Laura and decided that some hearty fare would definitely be a good idea. “Sure, Ellen, thanks a lot.”

“I’ll have the lasagna,” called Laura a little too loudly. “And some wine.” She looked at Bill imploringly. “Bill!” she whispered. “Tell Ellen to bring some chianti, would ya?” She picked up the bottle of limoncello and preemptively held it out for Ellen, who had turned on her heel and was headed back toward their table.

Ellen intercepted the bottle gratefully. "Chianti coming right up," she promised.

 

Three hours and one and a half bottles of wine later, and Laura was more than a little silly. He'd never seen her so relaxed and carefree.

"So then I ran across the street and was all, 'Cliff Huxtable, gimme some jello pudding! Hey hey hey!' And he stopped and talked to me for a while! But now I can't even remember what we talked about. I think maybe which bars I'd been to that night," Laura concluded her enthralling story of meeting Bill Cosby. She giggled and blushed prettily, covering her eyes with her hand as if to shield herself from his impending judgment. “How embarrassing, right?”

Bill chortled. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t know what I would have said to him, either,” he offered. “Though I would hope to at least have the sense to refrain from calling him by his fictitious name.” He looked at his watch; it was only eight-thirty, though it felt later since they’d started so early.

He saw Laura notice him checking the time. “Do you want me to take you home?” he asked tentatively.

“Hmm, not particularly. It’s still early, right?” At Bill’s nod, she suggested, “Let’s go out. We could go into the city, find a bar, see a movie...” she trailed off, unsure.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind seeing a movie,” Bill replied, signaling Ellen that they were finished.

Laura brightened. “You know, on second thought, I’ve got a VCR and some videos I haven’t had a chance to watch yet. Why don’t you come over? I’ll even let you pick.”

Every fiber of Bill’s being screamed _yes! finally_ , but he held back for a moment to consider. He quickly ran through his options; he could decline, which would probably disappoint Laura, because she wouldn’t have invited him over if she didn’t want him to come (right?); he could accept, but commit to keeping his hands to himself so as to preserve the platonic nature of their relationship until such time as Laura was not completely (mildly? Her pupils were far less over-dilated, now that they’d eaten) buzzed; or, he could go to her place with an open mind and see what happened.

Number three. Definitely number three, he resolved. “Sure, I’d love to watch a movie,” he agreed. “I actually don’t even have a television at my place.”

“Whatever do you do to entertain yourself?” she teased him as she pushed herself up out of her seat and corked the open bottle of wine.

He didn’t have a chance to answer, because Ellen came over holding a bag, into which she placed the wine bottle before handing it to Laura. “I put some cannoli in there for you, Saul made ‘em fresh today,” she smirked. “Congratulations on finishing the trial and your new jobs. And enjoy your day off tomorrow!”

“Thanks, Ellen. And thanks so much for dinner, that was really nice of you and Saul,” said Bill.

Laura hugged the older woman. “Yes, thank you, tonight was really fun.”

Ellen leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I hope it’s about to get a lot more fun for both of you,” she murmured, looking at Bill.

Laura giggled as she made her way through the door Bill was holding open for her. “We’ll see,” she called back. “I hope so too.”

Once outside on the sidewalk, the air still warm and sticky with the late summer humidity as daylight waned, Bill offered Laura his arm. She linked hers through his and promptly fell against him in a fit of nervous laughter.

“What’s so funny?” he asked mildly. He didn’t know if she was laughing because of whatever Ellen had whispered to her, or because she was apprehensive about the fact they were about to go back to her home together, but it was cute, and only made her clutch him tighter.

“Oh, nothing...I just...get these uncontrollable giggle fits sometimes!” she gasped as he continued to lead her to the courthouse parking lot. Bill smiled, not caring that she didn’t answer his question.

* * *

Laura took a deep breath and peeked up at Bill from behind the curtain of her hair as she fumbled with the door lock. Finally the tumbler slid over and she opened the door for her guest.

Thank goodness she’d tidied up earlier in the week; while she tried to keep the clutter under control, it was frequently difficult to find the motivation to do so after working long hours and on weekends. After seeing Bill’s apartment, with everything in its place even as he’d been completely ill, she’d feared that he would judge her less than fastidious housekeeping if and when he finally came to her place. She’d hired someone to clean for her when she worked at the firm, but the salary of a public servant demanded more austerity on her part, so it had been one of the amenities she’d reluctantly but responsibly given up.

She set her purse down on the table in the entryway and gestured for him to follow her down the hall into a small kitchen. Removing the bottle of wine and small takeout box from the paper bag Ellen had sent them home with, she asked him, “Would you like some more wine?”

“Sure,” he replied, distracted as he looked around the apartment. She quickly grabbed two large wineglasses and filled them with the remainder of the Chianti. She took a glass to him, then returned to the kitchen for her own wine and their dessert. She transferred the cannoli to a plate and carried it out to the living room, setting it on the coffee table.

Bill was still standing awkwardly in the space between the living room and the kitchen. “Bill,” she called, laughing, “come on in here. I won’t bite.”

He complied and gingerly sat on the couch. She browsed through a bookshelf next to the television and grabbed a handful of VHS tapes before setting next to him in the middle of the couch and handing them to him. “Here’s what I’ve got that I haven’t watched yet.”

She sipped her wine while he examined the videos with interest. “Fatal Attraction, Dirty Dancing, or Robocop, huh? Would you be mad at me if I choose Robocop?” he asked good-naturedly.

“I’m sure I’d get over it,” she drawled. “Besides, it is my movie, after all. I wouldn’t have bought it if I didn’t want to watch it.” She took the videos back from him, her hand brushing against his, and rose to put the tape in the VCR and turn on her new twenty-one inch television.

“I’m just going to go get into something more comfortable while the previews play, if you don’t mind,” she told him, apologetically looking at his own rumpled suit. “Feel free to take off your jacket and tie, whatever you want.”

 _Good one, Laura_ , she berated herself as she fled to her bedroom. _Why not just ask him to strip for you..._

Flustered, she flung open her closet and examined its contents critically while she quickly shrugged out of her suit and unbuttoned her blouse, tossing her work wear in an undignified heap in the corner of her small room. She didn’t want to look like she was trying too hard, but neither did she want to come off as a total frump. Sighing, she pulled on a sleeveless lavender top and comfy white tennis shorts, an acknowledgement of the unfortunate reality that her one-bedroom apartment only had a single window-unit air conditioner-- in the kitchen. She briefly checked her reflection in the mirror over her dresser and went to into the kitchen for some glasses of water before returning to her guest.

“I’m sorry it’s so hot in here, Bill,” Laura apologized, opening a window and turning on an oscillating fan set up on a table in front of it. “I didn’t even think about my lack of air conditioning when I invited you over.”

He shrugged. “No big deal.” He’d removed his shoes and socks, as well as his tie and button-down, so that he was now wearing just his slacks and a white undershirt. He patted the space on the couch next to him.

This time it was her turn to comply with his suggestion of increasing their proximity, and suddenly she understood his earlier reluctance. The previews were winding up; it was now or never.

Gulping, she fixed a smile of false bravado on her face and joined him, sitting close enough that their thighs touched. He smiled easily back at her. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she echoed, mesmerized by his blue eyes.

He reached up to her face to push a lock of hair behind her ear. That task accomplished, he slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against his side as the movie began.

“Relax,” he whispered against her hair. “It’s just me.”

That small reminder, just three words long, did more to take the edge off the situation than any additional quantities of wine possibly could have. This was Bill, her friend of nearly a year, her constant companion, the person she looked forward to seeing when she got up every morning. The person she’d promised to wait for. And now the wait was nearly over.

She sighed contentedly and tucked her feet up beneath her, allowing herself to lean more fully against his comforting bulk. A shiver briefly wracked her body--she wasn’t sure whether from the whispers of wind from the fan, or from being turned on by the decidedly masculine scent emanating from Bill--and he responded by tugging his arm around her a little tighter and lazily stroking the bare skin of her upper arm.

As they watched the tale of cyborg resurrection and redemption, her mind wavered between anxious thoughts of _what now? what next?_ and calmer musings of _oh, this is nice, I could do this forever_. When she felt Bill unobtrusively shifting the arm he had draped over her shoulders, she smiled at him and brought it over her head, placing his hand in her lap as she wrapped her arm around the one that had fallen asleep before leaning against his shoulder again. “This is nice,” she murmured, giving voice to the less neurotic of the two themes currently preoccupying her mind.

He twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. “It is nice,” he agreed huskily.

She felt comfortable and safe, so much that she found herself on the verge of slumber several times before the action film reached its exciting conclusion. Their hands intertwined, she relished the feeling of his thumb softly caressing her skin, lulled by his even breathing.

As the credits began to roll, she tilted her head up from its resting place against his shoulder in order to see his face. She smiled beatifically at him, wanting to convey the extent of her contentment but unsure of what to say.

He saved her the trouble, cupping her chin in his hand and gently stroking her bottom lip with his thumb. "This has been wonderful, spending time with you like this," he said softly. "But I should get going-- it’s been a long day, and you’re tired.” She nodded slowly, leaning into his touch, and he continued. “Can I see you tomorrow?"

She had a pretty good idea of where this was going at this point, but it was hard to think about her next move with him touching her like that and his body so very close to hers. Spend tomorrow with Bill, yes. Somewhere romantic. Her mind rifled through pleasant memories-- shapes, scents, colors, tastes-- before settling on a place.

She nodded against his hand as he slid it up from chin to cheek. "I was thinking maybe a day at the beach? I haven't been all summer, and I would love some company." Her eyes glinted playfully. "And a ride, if you don't mind, because otherwise I'd have to rent a car."

"I guess I'm just destined to be your personal chauffeur," he joked, rising to his feet and taking both her hands in his to pull her up off the couch. Catching a glimpse of her fleeting conflicted expression, he added, “Hey, it’s the least I can do for my date, right?” Once she smiled back at him, he dropped her hands and began gathering up his clothing. He slipped sockless feet into his loafers and draped the remaining garments over his left forearm.

"So which beach did you want to go to?" he asked lightly. "I'm not really partial to any particular shore town."

Time to take a chance; “roll the hard six,” as she’d heard Bill say before. If she did this, they would almost certainly be lovers by this time tomorrow. If he accepted, anyway; after a year of conflicting signals and repressed desire, she felt relatively terrified about initiating this next step. These thoughts colored her qualified response to his simple question.

"My mother has a house down in Cape May that I know she's not using right now. I like to try to get there when I can, it's a nice little Victorian a block from the ocean. But I feel bad making you drive that far when there are beaches a forty-five minute train ride away. And Cape May is pretty sleepy, not much to do, maybe you would rather to go to Seaside Heights or Atlantic City, or maybe Long Beach Island..." she rambled.

He cut her off, stepping closer and wrapping his free arm around her waist, pulling her flush against him as his lips descended to hers. "Cape May sounds perfect," he said, just before his lips met hers, softly pressing, tenderly moving against hers, his tongue ever so lightly flicking in between. When she parted hers in invitation, he slowly pulled away, leaving her breathless.

"What time should I pick you up?" he asked, his voice low and measured.

"Um, how's eleven work for you?" she squeaked.

"Just fine," he smiled. He leaned in and gave her one last, chaste kiss. "I think you and I will have plenty to discuss on our long drive."

Eyes wide, she hummed in agreement and grabbed his hand to begin leading him to the door. This time, she kissed him, sliding her hand around the back of his neck so she could pull him closer, closer, as her fingers buried deep in his hair.

Before she broke the kiss, she used her free hand to begin opening the door to her apartment. With a final resonant smack, she pulled away and instructed him in a tone that made both the means and the end entirely clear, even if the words themselves lacked the precise formulation of a hypothetical imperative:

"You might want to bring an overnight bag. Okay?"

Her satisfied smile bid his bewildered nod goodnight as she closed the door.


	8. August 26, 1988

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill and Laura take a drive down the Shore; play beach blanket bingo.

  


Bill couldn’t stop grinning as he drove to Laura’s apartment in Jersey City. The bright August morning suited his mood perfectly; he’d been a ray of fucking sunshine since leaving her place the night before.

After being smitten with her so long, he could hardly believe his dreams were about to come to fruition. He said a silent _thank you_ to Judge Cottle for setting the weekend in motion for them. For all his gruff exterior, the surliness was really quite affected.

 _Life is good_ , he concluded his internal monologue as he pulled up into the parking lot adjacent to her building, bopping his head involuntarily to “Little Red Corvette.”

He parked and glanced in the backseat at the duffel bag Laura had demanded he bring, unable to resist the urge to check one last time that he'd remembered to throw a handful of condoms into the zippered compartment along with his toothbrush and razor.

Thus assured, he checked his teeth in the rearview mirror and gave a quick huff of breath into his hand and, finding nothing objectionable, went to go get his girl.

 _My girl._ The simple act of associating the possessive first-person pronoun with Laura brought that shit-eating grin back to his face and dissipated his remaining anxiety. Sure, they needed to have a pretty heavy conversation about how they were going to proceed with this...thing. But after last night, he knew they were both ready to work it out.

He knocked in rapid succession with one hand, lightly clutching a pair of Wayfarers in the other; they were going to the beach, after all.

She opened the door a moment later, a sweet smile on her face that widened at seeing him. "Hi."

He crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him, drinking in the sight of her. She wore a strappy navy blue sundress with white sandals; her hair was loose, the way he liked it best, and tumbled over her bare shoulders.

"You look beautiful, Laura," he told her. "I would never get any work done if you were able to dress like that at the office."

She giggled. "It’s nice to be able to get out of the suits once in a while." She twirled around a single time, the dress flaring away from her hips. "Nice to get out of the office, too."

"Quite," he agreed vaguely before coming back to himself. He noticed a small overnight bag sitting on the small table behind her and asked, “All ready to go?”

Nodding, she gathered her purse and keys, and Bill grabbed the overnight bag. “I figured we’d stop for food and other things on the way down there,” she said.

“Fine by me,” concurred Bill, though he couldn’t help but wonder what “other things” she might have in mind. Chastising himself to keep his mind out of the gutter, he offered her his arm and escorted her from the apartment.

 

They were quiet for most of the ride out of the congested New York City metropolitan area, Bill focused on driving, Laura nervously pleating the folds of her skirt as a Bruce Springsteen tape played. Once they hit the Garden State Parkway, the mood became more anticipatory, one befitting young lovers on their way to a romantic destination. Bill swapped out the Springsteen for a Motown compilation before reaching over to Laura’s lap and taking her hand in his.

She sighed happily, rubbing her hand against his in an approximation of the skin-to-skin friction he hoped to be experiencing on a somewhat grander scale sometime later that day.

“So what did you want to talk about?” she broke their embargo on conversation with softly spoken words, barely audible over the engine noise coming in through the open windows and the crooning of Diana Ross. “When you were leaving last night, you said...”

He glanced over at her. “I know what I said,” he nodded, giving her hand a squeeze. “I guess I just meant, we should talk about...” he trailed off, uncertain of how to term it. It had seemed so clear to him last night that they’d need to set some parameters before jumping headlong into this new entanglement, but now, with her next to him, wrapping his hand around her smaller one, his earlier concerns seemed inconsequential. “Our work-life balance?”

She hummed in understanding. “I suppose.”

“Because I don’t want that to be hanging over our heads for the next couple of days,” he explained. “I’m hoping we can just...be. Get used to this idea of--” he waved from his chest to hers--”you and me.”

“I think we’ve had a lot of time to think about that,” she countered. “Are you talking about how to proceed at our new workplace? Because you and I both know we’ve managed to be perfectly professional in our current positions.”

“We have,” he affirmed. “But Laura,” he looked at her seriously, “making love will change things between us.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she nodded. “I know it will.” She paused, lips parted as she breathed a little heavily. “I want things to change, Bill.” She shifted in her seat, turning her body toward him. “After all this time, haven’t we earned the right to live a little?”

“Ninety more minutes,” he promised.

The sporty little car zipped along the highway, taking them past the Oyster Bay nuclear power plant and over the Great Egg Harbor Bay. Soon they had passed exits for the last of the southern Jersey shore towns and were crossing the causeway from North Wildwood into Cape May.

Laura directed him to the Acme supermarket, conveniently located next to a package goods store. “Booze or food first?” she asked him. “I can’t count on my mother having left the pantry stocked, so we need to get some snacks at least.”

He led her toward the grocery store in response. The store wasn’t too crowded, due to both the lateness of the season and the fact that mid-afternoon on Friday was an ideal time to shop, as the rentals would turn over Saturday at noon. He carried the basket as she efficiently deposited into it cheese, crackers, grapes, blueberries, and dry pasta and jarred sauce. “Keep it simple,” she winked at him.

He added a loaf of Italian bread, a quart of orange juice, and some coffee, slightly nervous to think about waking up with Laura the following morning. “Do you want to go back and get some eggs?” he asked her. “I’ll go get in line.”

“Sure,” she agreed brightly. “Gonna make me an omelet tomorrow?”

“Whatever you want,” he promised. She grinned and practically skipped back to the dairy section.

They checked out, Bill insisting on paying--”It’s your house,” he pointed out--and walked over to the liquor store with their single bag of purchases.

This time Laura held the shopping basket, adding a few bottles of red wine and one of scotch quickly, then coming to a bewildered pause in front of the rum shelf. “Having problems?” Bill asked dryly.

“Just thinking about what I might like to drink on the beach,” she replied with a smile. “Totally against the rules, but a time-honored tradition. A cocktail always tastes better with sand between your toes.”

“Daquiri? Rum and coke?” he offered hesitantly. These girly drinks really weren’t his forte.

“Noooo,” she drawled, tapping her index finger against her lips thoughtfully.

His eyes fell to her hair, and it triggered a hazy memory. “I think I’ve got one you might like. Favorite drink of this guy I used to go out to bars with in the Navy. Always ordered a ‘Firecracker.’” He reached out to gently tug at a lock of her hair.

“Firecracker, huh?” she laughed. “What’s in it?”

“As I recall, _good_ rum, bitters, simple syrup, and a dash of absinthe.” He shrugged in response to her raised eyebrow at his mention of the last ingredient. “I know, I know, not gonna find absinthe here. But trust me, it’ll work without it.”

“All right,” she agreed, selecting a bottle. “Will this do?”

He inspected the label. “Yep, as I recall this one was the absolute cheapest rum my buddy would use. Good choice.” His eyes wandered the small shop for bitters, and, locating the Peychaud’s toward the back, he went to go retrieve it. When he met her at the register for pay for their purchases, she insisted on paying this time, which gave him the opportunity to place his hand at the small of her back as she fumbled through her wallet for change.

He hoisted the bag of bottles from the counter and handed her his keys. “Let’s go.”

Laura opened the driver’s side door for him and pulled the lever on the seat so that he could place the bags on the floor, securely behind the seats. He took the keys back from her, letting his fingers linger over hers. “So where’s this house of yours?”

It only took about five minutes before they pulled up to a pretty Victorian house, painted yellow with green and white gingerbread trim. Bill was relieved to find no cars in the driveway; while he’d taken Laura at her word that her mother wouldn’t be using the house this weekend, he’d still feared an unwelcome surprise in that regard.

He pulled the parking brake and exited the car, walking around it to open the passenger door for Laura. He held out his hand and helped her up when she took it. “Why don’t you go take care of opening up the house? I’ll get our things.”

She rooted briefly through her purse before locating a jangly set of keys and scurried over the walkway up the steps of the front porch to open the door. Bill grabbed their bags first and brought them up to the porch, leaving them there while he returned to the car to get the groceries and drinks out of the trunk.

When he returned to the porch the second time, he noticed their bags had been taken inside and figured Laura must have done it. She’d left the front door ajar, so he tentatively walked in, a paper bag in each arm.

He closed the door behind him with his foot and looked around. Nice place; gauzy white curtains on the windows, weathered heart-pine floorboards, light-colored wicker furniture. A dusty stack of board games sat in the corner of the living room.

“Laura?” he called, unsure of where she’d gone. He followed the center hallway to the back of the house, figuring he’d find the kitchen eventually, and was rewarded for that presumption when he came to a large, airy kitchen, divided from the adjacent dining room by a long countertop island with five barstools lined up against it. But no Laura.

Shrugging, he placed the bags down on the counter and went to start putting them away in the fridge. A quick inspection revealed plenty of space for their purchases and very little evidence of anyone having been in the house recently, if the expiration dates on some of the condiments in the door were anything to go by. He checked out the freezer; plenty of trays of ice, but little else. He quickly stashed the perishables -- eggs, cheese, and fruit -- on the top shelf, then removed the bottles of wine and liquor from their brown paper packaging and placed them on the counter next to the fridge.

Warm arms slid around his waist, startling him at first, but he relaxed as he felt her place her cheek against the space between his shoulder blades and hold him tightly, her breasts pressing into his back.

He was thinking about turning around when she anticipated him, tugging at his arm to get him to do just that. He gave no resistance to her playful pulls and turned to face her, leaning against the counter as she leaned into him.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and rose up on her toes to kiss him: sweetly, chastely at first, but they found it quickly devolving into something much more purposeful. He moaned when she rubbed her hips against his and she took the opportunity to suck on his bottom lip, sending shock waves straight to his cock.

“Laura...Laura, wait,” he muttered against the moving target of her mouth.

“I thought you promised me you weren’t going to make me wait,” she reminded him throatily, still hanging on his neck, her forehead pressed against his. She placed her lips back to his, trying to recapture the momentum of the previous moment. “What, Bill,” she said resignedly, taking a small step back from him, her hands dropping to loosely hang from the front pockets of his chino shorts.

He saw both desire and fear-- _of being rejected, you bastard_ , he denigrated himself--in her eyes, and it nearly broke his heart. He tried to explain quickly, to make the hurt in her eyes go away.

“I don’t want you to think that I just want to have sex with you, Laura,” he fumbled inarticulately, distracted by the sight of her: breathless, lips slightly swollen, waiting. “It seemed inappropriate to want to jump you five minutes after walking in the door.”

She laughed in his face. “Bill,” she started, taking his hand, “you have given me _absolutely_ no reason to think that all you want from me is sex.” She giggled again. “Is a year of foreplay not enough for you? It is for me.” Tugging him closer to her again, she wrapped her arms around him, grabbing his ass and pushing her breasts up against his chest. “Okay?”

He returned the embrace, resting his cheek against her hair and inhaling deeply. She smelled like vanilla and coconut, and combined with the salty sea air, it was intoxicating. “I’m convinced. Why don’t you lead the way,” he murmured in her ear. “Unless you were thinking the kitchen counter...?”

She smacked his ass. “Bill Adama! The first time we make love, it will be properly, in a bed!” Snickering, she added, “Save the counter for later.” She kissed him again and turned on her heel, skirt swirling around her. “Come on.”

* * *

Laura’s heart raced as she carefully walked up the carpeted stairway, not wanting the trembling in her legs to cause her to trip and fall. They were finally going to do this, she mused in wonder.

She had come upstairs after bringing in their bags to quickly decide which room they would use and make sure it was ready for immediate occupancy. The Roslin beach house had three bedrooms-- growing up, Laura had enjoyed having her own room, while her two younger sisters shared the one across the hall--and she had quickly come to the conclusion that sleeping with Bill in her parents’ old room, master suite though it may be, just didn’t seem right. So her childhood room would have to do.

Her hand hesitated on the doorknob, but she opened the door, gestured for Bill to go in first, then joined him in the airy room.

She had already opened the windows and turned on the ceiling fan during her initial reconnaissance mission, and though the room was warm, to be expected on a late summer afternoon, a pleasant breeze filtered through the ivory lace curtains.

Bill slipped out of his docksiders, lining them up precisely against the wall, before sitting down gingerly on the edge of the wrought-iron double bed. She giggled a tiny bit; his cotton madras shirt clashed horribly with the faded quilt. He was looking at her expectantly. “C’mere,” he husked, arms open.

Laura melted a little inside at the sight of him, his desire for her obvious. _And he wanted to wait_ , she laughed inwardly, _did he think it would be easier to avoid doing this if we went to the beach in swimwear and lathered sunblock all over one another?_ So much better to get this out of the way first, she was certain.

Instead of voicing these thoughts, she went to him, unsure whether to straddle him or sit next to him. She opted for the former, internally justifying her wantonness with her earlier point of year-long foreplay; no need to be coy.

Smiling, she began unbuttoning his shirt and as soon as she was able, pushed it off his shoulders, baring his torso. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you like this since the time I came to your house when you were sick,” she confessed breathily. She ran her hands over his pectoral muscles, enjoying the feel of the smooth skin as well as his obvious reaction to her touch.

He leaned back so he was laying down and could finish unbuttoning the few remaining buttons on his shirt, then reached up to cup her breasts in his hands. “And I’ve been wanting to do _this_ since...forever,” he responded with his own admission, circling her nipples and gently massaging them. He pulled her down on top of him, slipping his hands through her hair to cup her head and bring her face to his. As they kissed, he ran his hands down her back, cupping her ass through her dress before slipping his hands under the hem and back up again. She heard his breath catch at finding her secret.

“Oh god, Laura...you’re not wearing any panties?” he groaned into her ear. “Have you been like this all day?” He trailed his fingers over her ass and around the curves of her hips to lightly palm her exposed vulva.

She pushed herself back against his hand gleefully, seeking more deliberate contact, a firmer touch. “Ever since you picked me up,” she admitted.

“Damn,” he muttered, “good thing I didn’t know then, or we’d still be pulled over on the side of the Garden State Parkway.”

He continued his explorations, sliding his hand between them and cupping her mons, gently stroking her labia, wishing he were making this journey of skin over skin with his cock instead of his hand.

“I have to feel you,” he said urgently. “Too many damn clothes on.” His fumbling fingers sprung the clasp and undid his fly, and when Laura slid off of him, he lowered his shorts over his hips and sent them into a pile at the side of the bed. While he was at it, he shrugged his shirt off his arms and flung it to the floor as well. Laura’s gaze was fixed at his crotch, mesmerized by the bobbing erection tenting his gray boxers. She had imagined what lay beneath that thin material so many times as she brought herself to climax, alone in her bed or shower, over the past months; it seemed surreal to finally have it here in front of her, ready to be revealed.

Lost in her anticipatory thoughts about his cock, she didn’t notice that he had reached back over to her until he started moving the straps to her sundress off her shoulders.

“How does this come off? Is there a zipper somewhere?” he asked, trailing his fingers down the soft skin of her arm.

Her head spun at her body’s response to his touch, and she could barely process his question. “No, it just...” She sat up and shifted her hips off the bed, grabbing the hem and pulling the dress up over her head. Bill’s eyes gazed over her smooth navel up to her breasts as she divested them from her black strapless bra. She tossed both garments away from her to join Bill’s.

He was on her in an instant, laying her out so that they were finally face to face, lengthwise on the bed instead of awkwardly fooling around on the shorter angle. “Bill,” she moaned as his hand roamed over her hip and finally found the juncture of her thighs, forgetting for the moment that he’d ruined her intention to strip off those boxers. “Touch me.”

Complying with a growl, he spread her lips open with one hand, finding her slick and wet, simultaneously seeking entry to her mouth with his tongue. He slid two fingers through her wetness, coating them, and circled her clit with the slippery digits.

She arched into him, her body combusting, her clit the ignition as he stroked over it in alternating circular and back-and-forth motions. Their tongues met, pushed, played, the back and forth reminding her of their easy bantering manner with one another. She removed one hand from its grasp on his hair and snaked it between their bodies, seeking and finding his cock, grasping it through the fabric of his damn boxers.

As he moved his fingers from their assault on her clit to inside her hot channel and pressed his thumb down where his fingers had just been, she gasped against him. “Bill...too close, too good.” She hated to do it, she’d happily just lay there and let him keep doing what he was doing, but she wanted their sexual relationship to start out on a more equal and mutually enjoyable footing. So she regretfully moved his hand away from her pussy and, mustering her strength, flipped him over and off of her.

She answered his look of surprise with a wicked gleam, gathering her hair at the nape of her neck and twisting it against itself while she shifted herself over his thighs. Peppering kisses against his chest, she moved her attentions lower and lower, taking time to appreciate the defined muscles of his abs ( _yeah, he definitely does okay in the ring,_ she thought, pleased), that trail of hair from his navel disappearing into the waistband of his boxers.

“These have to go,” she muttered determinedly. She grasped at the waistband and was rewarded for her efforts with his assistance in getting them over and off his hips, his erection springing free at last.

She examined him hungrily, her eyes possessive. He was both longer and thicker than she’d imagined, and the skin was darker than the rest of him. Tracing the big vein on the underside with her fingernail, she let her hot breath pant against him, admiring, anticipating as she got closer. She gave it a few exploratory licks; the taste was pleasant, the skin smooth. Flicking her tongue over the slit at the end, she acknowledged that she was pleased to find him circumcised; given her history of dating mostly Jews, it was what she was more comfortable with. In her mind he’d always been circumcised.

Her mouth sank down, engulfing him fully as he involuntarily thrust up to meet her. She pulled up, swirling her tongue over and around the head and laving the juncture of head and shaft in small circles. He reached down to caress her breasts as she bobbed up and down, groaning when she began pumping his saliva-coated shaft with a firm grip while continuing to suck the head.

She didn’t even realize that she was humming in satisfaction, at finally doing this for him, being with him like this, when his hand slipped from her breast to tap at her shoulder. “Laura...get up here,” he said, his strained tone simultaneously reluctant and insistent. “Now. Please.”

She hummed agreeably, smiling at having dismantled Bill’s stoic facade and reduced him to near-begging, as she eased back up and over him, laying against his side and running her hand along his chest. Her hair had tumbled loose from its makeshift knot and he was cupping the side of her face, moving in to kiss her again as he pressed his hips toward hers, when he suddenly swore.

“Bill! What?” she asked, confused.

“The condoms are downstairs in my bag,” he lamented. “I’ll go...”

She pushed herself up and reached across him, on all fours with her ass in the air, in order to open the drawer to the bedside table. He took advantage of this easy accessibility to run his hand along her thigh and along the crease between her leg and ass. “I took the liberty of looking through your bag when I brought it in,” she confessed, yelping when his hand took a more intimate turn. “I’m glad we both came prepared.” She looked over at her shoulder at him, amused. “I’m assuming you prefer the ones you brought?” She shifted back over to straddle him, holding out two condoms.

He glanced at the selection she held in her hand. “At this point I wouldn’t care if you wanted to wrap my dick in cellophane,” he grunted, grabbing one and ripping the package open.

She tossed the remaining condom away and snagged the unwrapped condom from his fingertips. “No need to be crude,” she lectured playfully, kissing the tip of his cock before rolling the condom on over it. Once it was securely in place, she gripped him at the base and leaned closer so their upper bodies were touching, her hair falling in curtains around his face.

His eyes were wide and his breathing quick as she guided him into her. She laughed, and the clenching of her internal muscles around him just made his eyes go even wider.

“You look like you’ve never let a woman fuck you before, Bill,” she said, sultry. “Lucky me.”

He shook his head. “Just no one I’ve ever felt this way about before,” he said huskily. Her eyes softened and her sultry affectation disappeared, smiling, not moving, just relishing the delicious stretching and their simultaneous breathing as they looked at each other.

 _Me too_ , she silently answered his previous statement.

 _Laura-- I can’t wait any longer_ , his eyes beseeched hers.

She finally began to move against him in a leisurely rhythm, reveling in the feeling of him inside her, and her pace quickly grew more frantic as the suppressed passions of nearly a year and their extensive physical foreplay demanded she seek release. She forced herself to slow down and savor this experience, putting more weight on her arms and pushing away from him slightly; he took the hint and his mouth captured one nipple, then the other, before he pushed her breasts together to try to suckle both at once.

She tilted her hips, grinding her clit against his pubic bone and getting lost in the multitude of sensations converging from both within and without. Kissing him hard, she let her nipples drag across his chest, the nubs swollen and red from his earlier ministrations.

His hands traveled down to her ass, grabbing it firmly and clenching her closer to him with each grinding thrust. He was pushing further into her, the extra movement within her sending a delicious shock from that deep place and emanating through her increasingly resonant limbs. Her breath came in quick pants, punctuated by breathy moans.

Bill moved his hands back up to brace them against her shoulders, slamming into her with greater force; she was now unsure as to who was fucking whom. That thought fell away as she realized she was on the edge of the cliff, about to...

“Bill!” she cried, twining her fingers through his hair for support as she spasmed around him. He gave a few last pistonlike thrusts as she bonelessly surrounded him. “Laura,” he groaned when he found his own release. “My god...”

She stayed atop him for a few moments as she caught her breath, her mind pleasantly clear of all thoughts but one.

When she had regained sufficient control of her limbs, she carefully disengaged from him, rolling off and curling into his side, her head against his shoulder and her hand resting atop his chest. “That was amazing,” she sighed contentedly. “Better than I ever imagined.” She kissed his bicep. “And I imagined a lot.”

He pulled her closer against him, dropping a sweet kiss to her forehead. “It’s the least I could do for my date,” he said.

* * *

They both fell into a light postcoital slumber until Bill woke and checked his watch. It was half past four o’clock, time to get up and enjoy the cooler evening hours on the beach.

“Laura,” he whispered, nudging her shoulder gently where it was nestled against his chest. He smoothed her hair back from her face and ran his hand down her back, rubbing small circles with his palm. “Laura, sweetheart. Let’s get up.”

She looked up at him sleepily and yawned. “I can’t move. I’m too relaxed.” But she shifted despite her protestations, rolling onto her back and stretching her arms above her head.

He couldn’t help but grin; she was so beautiful, naked and sated in the late afternoon light, the salty sea breeze filtering through the room.

She noticed his expression. “You look pretty pleased with yourself,” she teased.

“I am,” he confirmed. “Pleased with myself, with you... with us.” He shrugged. “I’m happy.”

Draping herself over him again, she whispered in his ear: “I am, too.” Her foot trailed up along his calf.

He cleared his throat a little. “What do you say we go take a walk on the beach?

She hummed. “Aren’t you romantic? ‘Long walks on the beach’...” She smiled, letting him know she approved of his suggestion. Pushing herself up to a sitting position, she glanced down at the pile of clothes next to the bed and leaned over, snagging her blue sundress with a fingertip. She pulled it over her head and adjusted her breasts in the bodice, announcing, “I’m ready. Let’s go.” Laughing at his perplexed expression and lazily looking down at his still-naked body, she added, “I’ll clean up a little first. You go ahead and get dressed.”

She left the room and he could hear her bounding down the stairs; she returned shortly thereafter with both of their bags in hand. “Here,” she handed him his, “the bathroom’s just down the hall.” She grabbed a toiletry case and a hair brush out of her bag and tossed the bag to the floor, turning and sashaying down the hall with her retrieved items in hand.

He watched, mesmerized, until she closed the door behind her and the bathroom light shone through the space between door and floor. _Focus_ , he chided himself. _Pants first_.

He tugged on both his boxers and khaki shorts, grinning at thinking of Laura’s fierce determination at removing the former. He skipped the belt-- _easier access later_ \--and pulled his lightweight plaid shirt back on, rolling the sleeves to the elbow and leaving the last three buttons undone. Finally he looked at his shoes and made a decision to leave them; even the casual shoes seemed too confining in light of the freedom and elation he was feeling. Freedom to touch her, show her the affection he felt, give into the strong sexual desire he’d felt toward her for so long.

He stepped out into the hall just as she was coming out of the bathroom. “Your turn,” she offered brightly, gesturing behind her.

He nodded and watched her descend the stairs before turning and using the facilities, relieving himself and washing his hands and face.

When he joined her downstairs, he found her intently studying a thick book of cocktail recipes laying open on the counter. The rum and bitters were placed next to it, and he noticed a small saucepan simmering on the gas range.

“I just need a few minutes for the simple syrup,” she explained. “This ‘Firecracker’ looks really good. I can’t believe I never heard of it before.” Smiling, she added, “That was one of my nicknames as a child. Because of my hair, and my favorite Fourth of July activity.” A wistful expression crossed her face. “We always came here for the Fourth, would go down to the beach for the fireworks display.”

“Has your family had this house for a long time?” he asked. “Looks like it was built in, what, 1890s? 1900?”

She nodded. “Yes, and my grandparents bought it in the late forties. It’s been in my family ever since. My mom was an only child, so it’s hers now.”

Just as he appreciated when she didn’t push him, he felt he’d afford her the same courtesy, and let her tell him the rest of the story, for he could tell there certainly was more, in her own time.

He leaned against her, pinning her against the counter, and kissed her bare shoulder. “It’s lovely here.” Glancing back to the range, he pushed her hair back from her ear and planted a kiss at the sensitive skin behind her earlobe. “I think your sugar water is boiling.”

“Oh,” she said dreamily. “I’ll get it.” Reluctantly she pulled away from him, turning to the stove and reducing the heat beneath the saucepan. She reached up into a cabinet and pulled out two plastic old-fashioned glasses and handed them to him. “Can you hold these while I fill them with ice?”

“Of course,” he said, taking them from her. She plunked a handful of cubes into each one and opened what Bill deduced must be the liquor cabinet. “I know we’ve got a jigger here somewhere...oh, found it!” She emerged from the cabinet’s depths triumphantly.

Bill had turned off the range and poured the simple syrup into a glass jar, then spooned a tablespoon of it into each glass.

She efficiently poured three jiggers of rum into each glass, topped off with one of bitters. “Always make a double for the beach,” she explained matter-of-factly.

The drinks nearly finished, she opened the fridge and grabbed a handful of the red grapes they’d bought at the store during the shopping trip that now felt like a lifetime ago. She rinsed them off in the sink and tossed a few into each glass.

“Got a swizzle stick?” he asked, indicating the final instruction in the recipe.

“No, but you do,” she responded saucily, her innuendo punctuated by her gentle grasp on his dick.

He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her to him. Leaning in, he whispered, “Let’s go,” before kissing her softly.

“Mmmm, okay,” she agreed breathlessly. They both picked up their drinks and headed out of the kitchen. Laura stopped to rummage through her purse for sunglasses and a hair clip, and finding them, handed her drink to Bill while she pulled the front sections back and pinned it with the clip. She removed the keys from the purse, too, and once they were outside, she locked the door. “Do you mind putting these in your pocket?” she asked, holding the key ring out to him and taking her drink back. “This dress doesn’t have any.”

He couldn’t help but slide his hand under her hem to discern whether she was still sans panties. Content to find that she was, he accepted the keys and pocketed them securely. "It sure doesn't,” he agreed, draping his arm across her shoulders and pulling her close as they walked to the beach.

The sun was low over the ocean as they strolled through the soft sand down to the water line. A strong breeze blew off the water, occasionally sending the spray of breaking waves onto their faces. Laura pulled Bill with her to wade in knee-deep water. "It's like bath water," she marveled happily. "This is my favorite time of year to come here, after the ocean's had all summer to warm up."

He splashed her lightly. "Hey!" she scolded, jokingly indignant. She hitched up her dress and splashed him back before scampering for the safety of shore.

There were few people out-- a couple of families with small children dumping buckets of water on one another, some older couples relaxing in beach chairs with their feet at the edge of the water. They’d walked about ten blocks when the lifeguards blew their whistles, indicating that they were going in for the night, and dragged their tall wooden chairs back up to the dunes. The families started packing up their toys.

“Getting late.” Laura held her thumb up to the horizon to estimate how many more hours were left before sunset.

Bill sipped his drink. “Not too late,” he said, looking sidelong at her.

She squeezed his hand. “No, not too late,” she agreed. Once they had reached a large rock jetty, she suggested they turn around and head back toward where they’d entered the beach.

He looked around. “Let’s sit for a little while, first,” he suggested, noticing that the area up by the dunes was deserted and that there was no ingress/egress point for several blocks in either direction. He tugged at her hand to have her follow him up toward the dune.

Once he stopped, she unfurled the small beach blanket she’d brought for this purpose and they sat down, Bill sitting first, then pulling Laura down to sit between his legs. He wrapped his arms around her and she crossed her arms and loosely grasped his tanned forearms.

He nuzzled her hair. “Beautiful,” he husked.

“Hmmm. It is,” she agreed, leaning back into him. As the sun dropped lower and lower, they watched the ocean’s rhythmic push and pull, lulling them into a trancelike state. They were alone on the beach, save the occasional jogger down by the hard-packed wet sand, a couple hundred feet away.

Laura finally spoke. “Let’s lay down.” She set her glass, now empty, in the sand next to the blanket and took his from him to do the same. She pushed him back gently and snuggled against him, her head on his shoulder, her legs intertwined with his, her hand on his heart.

He had just closed his eyes, utterly relaxed and content, when he felt her mouth on his jawline. She was kissing her way up from his chin to his ear, and he couldn’t help but turn his face to capture her lips with his before she could reach her destination.

For as many times as they’d kissed in the last twenty-four hours, they still hadn’t indulged in a proper “making out” session, and Bill was pleased to remedy that deficiency now as his lips parried with hers and she slipped her hand under the hem of his shirt to roam over his pecs.

He rolled over her, dragging the edge of the blanket over them to give them some semblance of privacy on the open beach, his tongue invading her mouth, sweet with rum and bitters-tinged. She gave as good as she got, grasping his hair and pulling him closer. He pressed his growing erection against her, and when she moaned, bit her lower lip, tugging on it gently with his teeth. His hand roamed from her thigh, up to her hip, and finally he palmed her breast through her dress. The air under the blanket grew humid and they both stopped for breath, tossing off the blanket and laughing.

“Bill, we can’t do this out here!” she exclaimed, her face flushed. She eyed his erection suspiciously.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “Says the woman who purposefully wore no underwear. And a short dress. To the beach.” He tugged her top down to reveal a creamy round breast and rosy nipple. “A deserted beach,” he added as he looked around to confirm his statement.

He bent back down over her to suckle and pulled the rest of the bodice down so that both breasts were exposed. As he laved her breasts and traced her areolae with his tongue, his hands roamed down to bunch the skirt of her dress up and over her hips. “Oh, Bill,” she moaned as he easily slid two fingers into her.

He could see that she was tense, though, despite being turned on. In a concession to her admittedly legitimate concerns about having sex in a public place, he pulled the blanket back up over them as he held himself up over her with one arm and undid his fly with the other. “Little help, Laura?” he pleaded.

Giggling, she pushed his shorts down over his ass, just enough to unleash his erection. He reached back down with his free hand and fumbled around in his back pocket for something, exhaling a sigh of relief when he pulled out a condom.

“I knew this might come in handy,” he smirked.

She leaned up and kissed him. “Hmm, your turn to be thinking ahead this time.” She took the condom from him and quickly ripped it from its foil packaging. Grasping him firmly, she rolled it on, rubbing the tip against her clit as she finished the task.

The ocean breeze roared in his ears as he entered her, drowning out their mutual moans of pleasure at the coupling. He gave a few tentative thrusts, making sure she was comfortable and not getting sandy, before descending his lips back down to hers, his tongue moving in time with his hips. “God, Laura, you feel so good,” he groaned.

She tilted her hips to allow him to thrust deeper and drew her legs up, bracing them against the ground for leverage to set her own counter-rhythm. It caused the blanket to shift halfway off of him, exposing them somewhat, but considering they were still both half-dressed, he wasn’t too concerned.

“I want to know what you like,” he whispered. “Tell me how to make you feel good.”

“This _is_ good,” she panted back, but she grabbed his hand and pushed it toward her pussy anyway.

He easily found the sensitive nub, thanks to the wide stance of her bent knees, and when he looked back up at her to gauge whether his touch was satisfying her, found her playing with her exposed nipples with a blissful expression on her face.

“That is so sexy,” he said, awed. He thrust harder, rubbing her clit in tight circles and noticing that a lighter touch seemed more effective. “God, Laura...you are so gorgeous.” The late evening light paired with the exertion of their lovemaking gave her pale skin an ethereal glow. Leaning down again to worship her with his mouth, trailing wet sloppy kisses from her collarbone up her neck and finally to her mouth, he murmured almost imperceptibly, “I’ve wanted you for so long.”

Her eyes were closed but he could swear he saw a tiny teardrop escape from the corner of her eye. “Me too, Bill,” she whispered, “oh...oh!” Her eyes flew open and he focused on consistently hitting the same spot that had evoked this reaction from her. A few more strokes, and she shuddered silently, looking at him gratefully through hooded eyes. Once she stopped shaking around him, she shifted her hips, opening wider. “Let go,” she invited. “I want it.”

If that wasn’t a command from a superior officer, he didn’t know what was. He thrust forcefully, sliding easily through her warmth, her muscles now languidly relaxed even in the face of the energetic intrusion. His efforts became erratic as he drew closer to a release, pumping, closer and closer...

"Aaah!” The small scream he let out surprised even himself. _More of a grunt. A dignified grunt_ , he rationalized. Laura’s bemused gaze told him that the only eyewitness wouldn't let that theory hold up in court.

Though both sated and boneless, loath to move, Bill's higher brain functions insisted that he at least dispose of the used condom in a tissue he'd had the foresight to bring for that purpose, and pull his pants back up and zip the fly, given their exposed locale. He’d never been so thankful for such survival instincts when he heard the drone of a four-wheeler approaching on the beach.

“Damn it!” Laura swore, peeking her head around his shoulder. “Beach patrol.” Glancing down at Bill and finding him satisfactorily covered, she tugged her dress back into place and flung the blanket off of him, pushing him off her as she leaned up on her elbows and tried to appear nonchalant.

To Bill’s horror, the patrolman noticed them and turned up toward their little love nest. He supposed it made sense; the four-wheeler probably couldn’t go over the jetty, so he was just turning around. Right?

His brief optimism was dashed when the patrolman waved at Laura. He came within about twenty-five feet of them before cutting the engine and hopping off.

“Laura Roslin!” the man called jovially. He was in his early thirties, with sandy hair and a lanky build. “I haven’t seen you in a couple of years, but I’d know that firecracker hair of yours anywhere.” He looked down at her, still reclining on the blanket. “You look great.”

She stood slowly, brushing sand off her arms. Bill stayed put, trying to discreetly clean off his hands and make sure his shirt was buttoned properly. “Officer Costanza,” she greeted him warily. “How are you?”

“Oh please, none of that ‘Officer’ stuff, call me Brendan.” He glanced at Bill. “We’ve known each other twenty years and she calls me ‘Officer’!” Raising his hands as if to say, _women, huh?_ , he continued on. “I’m doin’ fine. Maggie and the kids are great.” He looked expectantly between Bill and Laura.

Laura sighed. “Brendan, this is my boyfriend, Bill Adama. Bill, this is Officer Brendan Costanza.” Bill’s eyebrows raised at the introduction, but he nodded at the man and gave a small wave.

“Hey, I know I haven’t seen you since it happened, but I was so sorry to hear about what happened to your father and sisters,” he said sincerely. “The whole community took their loss really hard. We still think about them a lot in the public safety division.”

Laura was motionless, her gaze fixed over Costanza’s shoulder at the ocean. “Thanks,” she said tonelessly. "Yeah, I haven't come here too often since then."

Bill got up and stood next to Laura. “It was nice to meet you, Officer, but we’ve got to be going,” he announced.

Costanza looked between them; Bill wasn’t sure if he was simple, or just confused by Laura’s reaction. “Okay, sure. Good seeing you, Laura. Nice to meet you, Bill. Take care.” He turned back to his bike, hopping on and roaring away.

For Bill’s part, the man’s inadvertent disclosure made a lot of sense, though it broke his heart that Laura hadn’t been able to tell him. He reminded himself that while he and Laura were close on many levels, during their year together they had both kept much of their personal lives closely guarded. _We have more in common than we knew_ , he thought heavily.

He gently slid an arm around her waist. “Let’s go back to the house,” he said softly. She nodded, and he went to fold up the blanket while she picked up their glasses, dumping out melted ice and brushing sand off the bottoms. “We’ll make some dinner.”

They were quiet for the first few blocks walking back toward the house, arm in arm, but after a while, Laura took a deep breath and began to speak.

“My father, Edward-- my sisters, Sandra and Cheryl-- were all killed by a drunk driver. Four summers ago.” She looked at him and stopped walking. “It happened here in Cape May. My father had taken them out mini-golfing, and they all just never came back.”

He wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. “I’m sorry, Laura,” he said sincerely, gently rocking her back and forth. “I never knew.”

She sounded on the verge of tears, but the dam did not breach. “I don’t like to talk about it. And I’ve still got my mom.”

Giving one last squeeze, he released her and took her hand as they continued walking.

“I lost part of my family, too,” he said sadly. “I’m not trying to one-up you, Laura-- I just want you to know. My mother and older sister were killed when I was ten years old.”

“I didn’t know, either.” She looked stricken. “What happened?”

“My father was representing someone in a criminal matter, trying to work out a deal for his client. The guy who wasn’t cooperating had no problem using intimidation tactics, and when his first couple attempts to get my father to back off didn’t work, he went after his wife and daughter instead. Car bomb.”

Laura’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my god,” she said slowly, “I remember that.” She hugged his arm tightly. “I can’t believe your father kept practicing after that.”

“Yeah, he felt it was a matter of principle-- abandoning his work wouldn’t bring them back, you know? It was hard for me to understand when I was young, but I get it now.”

“And it made you want to prosecute the guys who did it,” she guessed.

“In part, yeah,” he admitted with a sad smile. “It’s not a need for vengeance, directly, but as much as I tried to do something else, I always came back to the law, to prosecution.”

They had finally reached the house and ascended the stairs to the porch together, their steps carrying a weariness that had not accompanied them out to the beach a few hours earlier. Laura reached into his front pocket with a smile and fished out the keys. Before turning the lock, she turned to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“This place holds a lot of memories for me, some happy, but for the past couple of years, primarily sad,” she said as she cupped his cheek. “Thank you for making some happy memories with me here today.”

 _It's the least I could do for my date,_ his answering gaze told her.

He cleared his throat. "May there be many more to come." He led her inside by the hand.

* * *

They had showered, separately, taking turns using the bathroom. Laura had gone first, towel-dried her hair and thrown on denim cutoffs and a halter top, and was now bustling around the kitchen.

It had been an emotionally exhausting day, she mused as she set out a plate of grapes, cheese, and crackers. Tough as it had been, she was glad she and Bill had gotten out everything between them. It seemed important and beautiful that their newfound physical intimacy had been followed by a deepening emotional connection.

Yes, it felt good to get her loss out in the open, at last. She filled a large pot with water and set it to boil, remembering cherished family dinners after long days on the beach, when she and her sisters would be ravenous and dehydrated from the salty water and could easily consume mountains of pasta, and still want to go out for ice cream afterwards. And her father would always indulge them.

She sighed. She had Bill to indulge, now, she thought, pleased with herself as she set the loaf of bread on a cutting board next to a knife and started looking through the fridge in hopes of finding some non-rancid butter.

Giving up the search and deciding to settle for olive oil and balsamic vinegar, she turned around and saw Bill coming into the kitchen. She could tell that he'd shaved, the familiar five o' clock shadow nowhere to be found despite it being nearly eight-thirty. He grinned at her, white teeth gleaming in the low light. "Hey."

Just that simple salutation sent a flood of moisture into the panties she'd finally decided to wear. She'd always found the deep timbre of his voice sexy, but now that she'd heard him use it to express his adoration for her as his cock moved deep inside her, it was a different experience entirely. "You look nice," she managed to get out.

He really did. A plain white t-shirt showcased tan, sculpted arms, while tight blue jeans begged for her to grab his ass. His feet were still bare; he looked extremely content.

"Can I help you with anything?" he rumbled.

Laura considered for a moment. "Sure, why don't you open some wine? There should be a corkscrew in that drawer," she indicated, pointing to the drawer in front of the wine itself. "And there are glasses in the cabinet in the dining room."

The water came to a boil, and Laura added the package of spaghetti, stirring so it wouldn't so stick. Bill returned from the dining room with two glasses and poured them each one.

"To happy memories," he said, raising his glass.

"To us," she rejoined, clinking his glass. She took a sip. "Let's set the counter."

 

As they ate their pasta, the taste of the jarred sauce marginally improved by liberal consumption of wine ("not bad, but it's got nothing on Ambrosia's," Bill admitted), Bill raised a point Laura had nearly forgotten about.

"So are you still interested in going to the fight tomorrow night?" he asked neutrally. "We could stay here another night instead."

She placed her hand over his and shook her head. "That's a nice thought, but I'd actually really like to go to the fight. I haven't watched boxing since my father died." She gave him a brave smile.

"I have to warn you, this game may not be worth the candle," he said. "It's a rematch of the fight from June when Tyson--"

"--knocked out Spinks in ninety-one seconds," Laura finished for him. "I know it's been busy at work this summer, but I haven't been living under a rock, you know." Her eyes sparkled playfully. "If it's another premature KO, I'm sure we'll find other ways to entertain ourselves for the remainder of the evening."

Moving his hand to her knee, he gave it a squeeze. "A little post-fight workout," he said agreeably.

"But maybe we could come back here for a few days before we start our new jobs," she suggested, pushing her plate away and sliding off her stool. She took their plates into the kitchen and began to rinse them off. "What do you think?"

"Wherever you are is where I want to be," he said honestly. "And I like it here, a lot."

She grinned. "Good."

He helped her clean up, taking over the scrubbing of pots and pans while she wiped off the counter with a rag and put the leftover food away.

She heard him turn off the tap, but nonetheless jumped in surprise when wet hands grasped around her waist, under the hem of her halter, and spun her around so she was facing him. He leaned into her, pinning her against the counter, his arms braced against the edge on either side of her.

"I'm ready to accept your earlier offer," he murmured into her ear before biting her earlobe gently. His fingers unbuttoned the fly of her cutoffs and dipped under her panties before withdrawing and pushing the worn denim down slightly over her hips.

Lost in sensation, she tried to look behind her, without losing the contact of Bill's mouth on her neck. Deciding it looked suitable enough for their purpose, she shrugged slightly. "Okay."

"Gonna be more than okay," he promised huskily, untying the tie behind her neck and bringing the top down to expose her breasts.

She whimpered, letting her head fall back and using both hands to push her breasts together as he suckled her greedily. She felt him grasp the material covering her stomach with both hands and tug downward, taking her shorts and panties along with it in a journey to the floor, leaving her completely bare.

His hands slid back up her thighs and cupped her ass, strong hands lifting her up onto the counter. He pushed her knees apart and stepped between them.

Having some idea of his intentions, she wriggled her ass to the edge of the counter. He rewarded her effort with a long savoring lick of as much of her as his tongue could reach.

"Oh," she moaned, threading her fingers through his hair and pulling him closer as he lapped eagerly. "Ohhh." _This._ How had they not yet done this? He was amazing, so gentle, if only he would just...

She braced her hands behind her and bucked into his face when his tongue finally circled her clit. “Yes! Right there!” He heeded her instructions, alternately sucking on her clit and swirling around it with his tongue.

His hands, which had been on her thighs, keeping her legs spread wide for him, began to move closer to her center. He dipped his tongue down into her vagina, then replaced it with his fingers while his mouth returned to her clit. Just as she could feel herself reaching the edge of pleasure, her inner muscles tightening against his crooked fingers, he looked up at her, his upper lip glistening.

“Don’t stop!” she begged. “Oh god, Bill, I’m so close, please...”

“I like it when you tell me what you want,” he chuckled, delving back down between her thighs. His fingers spread her wide, his tongue somehow seeming to be everywhere all at once. She clutched his head for purchase, letting out a loud keening moan when he finally focused his attentions in such a way to let her tumble over the brink, spasming violently against him.

Before her orgasm had even ended, he had stood up and was kissing her hungrily with the same enthusiasm he had just lavished below. She could barely breathe, nor did she want to; this light-headed feeling was intoxicating, addictive. She was suddenly at a loss for how she’d survived without sex for the past two years before her brain pointed out: _I was waiting for him...and it was worth it. And now I’ll never have to go without it again._ The thought shocked her and she pushed it out of her mind.

“Lay back,” he instructed, shucking off his clothes and sheathing himself in a condom before hopping up onto the counter and straddling her.

“Isn’t this going to hurt your knees?” she asked hazily, compliantly reclining under him. “We could move this to the sofa...the bedroom...even the rug in the dining room might be better.” She tried not to let her concern kill the mood.

“I’ve got it figured out,” he reassured her, easing himself over and nestling behind her in a spooning position, lengthwise across the countertop. She shifted onto her side, giggling when her backside came to rest against his erection. “Oh, I see.”

He insinuated his leg between hers and hooked his foot beneath her calf, pulling her top leg back over his; the maneuver opened her up to him. He pressed his cock tentatively at her entrance. “Good?” he whispered into her ear.

“Mmmhmm,” she hummed breathily as he bit her shoulder and pushed inside in one smooth stroke.

She pushed her hips back against his as he slid in and out. The shallow thrusts felt amazing, a feeling that intensified when he reached over her hip and slid his fingers through her labia, easily finding her swollen clit. He fluttered two fingers in alternating succession, the light touch quickly bringing her back from her post-orgasmic languidity to a full participant in these proceedings once more.

She was close, and she knew he knew from the increased rate of her panting and moaning. So she didn’t begrudge him but even a little when he abandoned her clit in order to use both hands to firmly grip the sides of her hips as he sought leverage to pound into her harder. The force he was using would surely leave marks; in fact, this whole counter encounter would probably end up bruising them both. She now knew why hard Formica countertops were not a typical lovemaking locale. But the thought of his fingers leaving their mark on her hips turned her on. She wanted to possess and be possessed by this man.

She forced herself to stop thinking and just feel as his thrusts grew erratic and his hand suddenly found her nipple, rolling it roughly. Leaning back into him, she turned her head so she could nestle her face into the crook of his neck as he came. When he brushed his thumb over her clit as the last of his come shot out of him, she followed into ecstasy.

Sighing happily, she reached her hand behind her to run her fingers through his hair. When she opened her eyes and her view came to rest on the kitchen sink, she giggled at the thought that followed, which she voiced for Bill’s benefit.

“I think we’re gonna have to wipe down the counter again,” she said, reluctantly repatriating her body with a soft wet slurp.


	9. August 27, 1988

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A highly anticipated boxing match at Madison Square Garden.

  


The following morning, Bill awoke to find himself on his side with Laura nestled close against him. _Oh._ He carefully extricated his left arm from her loose grasp to check the time, squinting at his watch and letting his eyes fall closed again once he determined it was not yet seven o’clock.

His hand slid over her bare hip and he tugged her closer to him. She shifted in her sleep, muttering little sounds he deemed adorable.

His lips fell into a satisfied smile as he stretched lightly and thought back to the previous day’s extensive activities; in this bed, on the beach, even on the kitchen counter. They’d both been insatiable for each other, but now some seldom-used muscles were screaming their presence. It felt good.

As much as he felt he could just stay here with her forever, it occurred to him that she might want breakfast on the earlier side so they could take care of cleaning up the house and heading back north. Decision made, he slipped carefully from the bed and into a pair of shorts, and padded silently barefoot across the room before closing the door behind him.

Bill was no gourmet, but he knew his way around an omelette pan. He whistled cheerfully into the quiet kitchen while he cracked eggs into a bowl and adjusted the heat on the range. 

While the eggs were cooking over low heat, he thinly sliced some cheese and set the coffee to perking. His eyes kept drifting to the entrance to the kitchen; he hoped she’d stay asleep long enough for him to surprise her. 

 

* * *

The air buzzed with anticipation, the crowd anxiously awaiting the arrival of the fighters. Laura looked at Bill and grinned.

“I haven’t done this in so long!” She strained to make herself heard over the crowd and leaned closer to his ear. “Thank you for bringing me.”

He returned her pleased smile and reached out to squeeze her hand. “My pleasure.” 

Their eyes locked as they both remembered their mutual pleasure that morning, eggs forgotten and browning on the burner while they christened the dining room rug. Laura smirked in satisfaction; she’d never been intimate with anyone at the family beach house before this weekend, and now she’d gotten busy all over the damn place. Happy memories, indeed. 

She squinted across the crowd, which seemed to be heavily favoring Tyson. She personally hoped Spinks would redeem himself. Bill’s arm slipped over her shoulders and his fingers began to play with her hair.

“I love being able to touch you like this,” she heard muttered against her ear. “Keep you close. Let everyone know you’re mine.”

Her eyes closed and she leaned into him, wordlessly assenting to his possessive statement. Maybe they should have stayed in Cape May another night. Being this turned on in public was becoming uncomfortable. She opened her eyes just wide enough to look down at Bill’s crotch. Uncomfortable for her, at least; she wanted him to be rolling her nipples between the pads of his large fingers, she wanted to be sitting astride him, legs wantonly spread, sinking down on him...

“I might be hoping this is a short fight after all,” she confessed, fingers trailing lightly against the tendons of his neck. Her whisper blew across the side of his face, and he shivered despite the stagnant air in the crowded arena.

The announcer’s voice blaring over the loudspeaker interrupted their intimate conversation. “Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the rematch, ‘Round Two’ if you will, and please rise and give a warm welcome to our fighters!”

Laura giggled. “‘Round Two’? Is that really what they’ve been billing this fight as?”

“Could get a little confusing. And it’s not like Spinks needed reminding that he didn’t make it past the first round last time. They should’ve stuck with ‘Rematch.’” Bill examined the program critically.

“Wearing black trunks and yellow trim, Michael ‘Iron Mike’ Tyson! Tyson weighed in at 218 pounds, is 5 feet 10 inches, and hails from Catskill, New York! Tyson has a record of 35-0 and is the current undisputed heavyweight world champion!”

Laura tugged the program out of Bill’s hands and looked at it. “Oh yeah, Spinks lost the lineal title in the first fight, huh?” She let her fingers linger in his lap when she returned the paper to him.

The crowd booed when Spinks made his appearance. “And in the opposite corner, wearing red trunks with black trim, here comes the challenger, Michael ‘Jinx’ Spinks! Spinks weighed in at 200 pounds, is 6 feet two inches, and is a native of St. Louis!” Spinks has a record of 31-1 and is looking to avenge that single loss to Tyson back in June.”

Energetic music poured out of the powerful speakers as the fighters made their way into the ring. The giant screen showed Spinks looking faint and apprehensive, while Tyson’s face was impassive.

Laura’s breath caught in anticipation as the referee conferred with the boxers. Bill’s hand settled on her knee and gently squeezed. She turned her head to look at him, lost in thoughts about where that hand had been and what it had done to her over the past two days, and nearly jumped out of her seat when the bell rang. Placing her hand over his, she resolved to pay attention to the fight.

Tyson landed a right jab followed by a bruising left hook to Spinks’ ear. “That’s a beautiful combination,” Laura commented.

Bill looked concerned. “He’s not gonna be able to absorb more like that.” 

The fighters parried, Spinks clearly reluctant to go toe-to-toe with Tyson. Tyson looked frustrated and annoyed, and charged Spinks to the ropes, unleashing a flurry of uppercuts that brought Spinks to his knees, stunned.

As the referee counted, Bill squeezed her thigh with each count. _Two...three...four..._

 _Stay down!_ her mind implored Spinks.

But Spinks rose and managed to get a right hand to Tyson’s head. Though it made contact, a nonplussed Tyson swatted it away like it was nothing more than an annoying insect. Laura leaned on the edge of her seat, anticipating the heavy blow to come.

Spinks made one last futile charge at Tyson, but failed to land anything of substance. He clinched into Tyson, who easily threw him off. Laura bit her lip, her body tensing...

Pow, pow, pow, SMACK. Spinks was on the floor of the ring. She looked at Bill.

He confirmed her unasked suspicion. “He’s not getting up.” The crowd’s jeers nearly drowned out the referee’s count.

_Eight...nine...ten. And it’s another knockout victory by Tyson!_

Bill checked his watch. “Ninety-five seconds. Pathetic.” He shrugged apologetically, then pulled her to her feet along with the crowd to cheer Tyson for retaining the title. His arm snaked around her waist and he pulled her tight.

She turned her head to look up at him. “Want to get out of here?” Her hand slipped into his back pocket.

“Now that--” he dipped down to pick up her purse and hand it to her--”is the best idea of the evening.”

“Don’t speak too soon, Bill. I’ve got more plans for you.” Her lascivious grin left his cock twitching and his mind wondering what those plans might entail.

 

Two brief train rides later--Penn Station down to the World Trade Center, and then the PATH to Jersey City-- and they arrived back at Laura’s apartment. Bill had dropped her off on the way back from Cape May, then returned to his own apartment to swap out some clothing and freshen up before their “date.” He’d then picked her up at her place, but left his car at her building so they didn’t have to deal with parking in the city for the fight.

Bill grinned at the memory of dropping Laura off. He’d kissed her goodbye, and she’d gotten out of the car but turned immediately around to lean back inside through the window. “Come back here after the fight and stay with me tonight?”

He’d tried not to look overly self-satisfied as he smiled and nodded. “Sure.” She’d blown him a kiss goodbye--he had never imagined her to be the type, but he had to admit she looked incredibly cute doing it, especially when he was the recipient-- and flounced inside.

Now they were back where they’d started, a bit sooner than he’d expected, though perhaps he should have been more realistic about Spinks’ chances of lasting more than a round or two against the champ. Though it had been a poor fight, the two boxers clearly still as unevenly matched as they had been in June, he couldn’t complain that the alternative would be a few more uninterrupted hours with Laura.

He took her keys from her and set to opening the several deadbolts securing her apartment door. Finally turning the last one with the help of some instruction and encouragement from Laura, he opened the door and followed her inside.

She tossed her purse and keys down on the table in the entryway and kicked off her high-heeled sandals before padding into the kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink?” she called over her shoulder.

“Just some water would be fine.” Bill followed her into the kitchen and grabbed his own glass. She took it from him and filled it from the tap. She then pulled a Tab from the fridge for herself, while Bill admired the view of her Calvin Klein-clad backside. “Cheers,” she offered, tapping her can against his glass with good humor. They both moved to sit at her kitchen table, sliding two chairs to sit closer to one another.

“I’m sorry the fight was such a let-down,” Bill apologized for the third or fourth time that evening. 

She waved him off. “It was just fun to see boxing after so many years. I’d love to do it again sometime.”

He eyed her seriously. “So would I.” He hesitated, leaning back in his chair a bit. “I have to admit that I kind of liked when you introduced me to that beach cop as your boyfriend, Laura.”

“It’s the least I could do for my date,” she quipped. “Really, Bill. Here are the facts as I see them. I haven’t dated anyone else in the entire time I’ve known you. You and I were, by mutual agreement as I recall, ‘dating’ as of about eight months ago. We’ve had crazy, mind-blowing sex all weekend. So of course you’re my boyfriend. Right?” The last word had a slight uncertain tone to it, at odds with the assured posturing of the preceding pronouncement. 

Bill leaned across the table to respond, “Of course,” before capturing her lips with his. Finally he pulled back, leaving his hand woven through her hair. “I haven’t dated anyone else, either, Laura. And I don’t want to. I just want you.” He loosened his grip on her hair enough to free his thumb so it could stroke her cheekbone fondly. “My girlfriend.”

She smiled coyly. “I don’t think I’m ready to make any grand announcements at the courthouse, yet, though.” 

He chuckled at her double meaning. “Fine by me.” A nervous look crossed his face. "But how about here, in private?"

"You have some kind of sweeping statement to make?" she prodded.

He nodded slowly. "I love you."

Her hand reached out to cup his cheek. "About time."

The matter settled for the time being, she led him by the hand to her bedroom.


End file.
